HATE TO BE LAME. damian wayne.
damian wayne x jinx!reader
summary; after months of secretly revealing his feelings damian wayne finally realizes how much a broken heart hurts, on the other hand maybe jealousy should always be the last resort.
words; 6.2k
warnings; angst with happy ending, foster care system, abandonment issues, self-worth issues, emotional breakdown, jealousy, mutual pining, miscommunication, class differences, hurt/comfort, emotionally constipated teenagers, damian wayne being ooc?
masterlist; here & request
the first time damian wayne walked you home, you thought it was a coincidence.
you'd been heading down the same street for some reason, backpack slung over one shoulder, the other strap dangling loose because you'd blown out the seam again during lunch when your temper got the better of you. nothing dramatic, just stella orlicki making another snide comment about your "charity case" clothes, and suddenly your bag was ripping apart in your hands like tissue paper.
"that was reckless," he said, appearing beside you like he always did, soundless and uninvited. there was something almost predatory in the way he moved, like he'd been trained to hunt.
you shrugged. "it was fun."
he made that face, the one that meant he thought you were being deliberately obtuse. which, fair enough, you usually were. there was something sharp in his green eyes, a kind of cold calculation that reminded you he wasn't like other rich kids. "you could have hurt someone."
"could've. didn't." you kicked a rock, watched it skitter across the cracked sidewalk. "besides, nobody got hurt except my bag, and it was already falling apart anyway."
damian was quiet for a long moment, and you snuck a glance at his profile. sharp jawline, darker skin that somehow never seemed to get flushed or sweaty even after pe, hair that probably cost more to maintain than your foster family made in a week. he was beautiful in that untouchable way that made you want to mess with him, see if you could crack that perfect composure. there was an arrogance in the way he held himself, like he knew he was better than everyone around him and didn't care who knew it.
"i could get you a new one," he said finally, and there was something almost dismissive in his tone, like buying you things was beneath him but he'd do it anyway.
"no." the word came out sharper than you meant it to. "i don't need charity, wayne."
"it's not charity, it's-"
"it's what, then?" you stopped walking, turned to face him fully. "pity? guilt? what exactly do you get out of following me around and trying to fix things i never asked you to fix?"
for a moment, something flickered across his face, something vulnerable and raw that made your chest tighten unexpectedly. but then it was gone, replaced by that familiar mask of indifference, the one that made him look older than seventeen, more dangerous than a high school student had any right to be.
"nothing," he said quietly, but there was something brittle in his voice, like he was admitting to a weakness he couldn't afford to have. "i get nothing out of it."
you believed him. that was the problem.
the second time he walked you, followed really, home, it was raining.
you'd missed the bus, again, because you'd been in detention, again, because you'd accidentally turned your chemistry homework into a small explosive device. it wasn't your fault that mixing random chemicals together was more interesting than balancing equations, and it definitely wasn't your fault that mr. peterson had zero sense of humor about smoke filling up the classroom.
you were soaked within minutes, your thin sweater doing absolutely nothing against the downpour. the drops felt like tiny hammers against your skull, each one making you more irritated, more likely to do something stupid. you could feel that familiar buzz under your skin, the one that meant trouble was coming whether you wanted it or not.
the voice came from your left, and you turned to see damian wayne sitting behind the wheel of what was probably the most expensive car you'd ever seen in person. the engine purred like a contented cat, and the interior looked warm and dry and completely off-limits to someone like you.
"i'm fine," you called back, not stopping.
the car rolled forward, keeping pace with your walking. "you're going to get sick."
"i have an immune system, thanks."
"it wasn't a request." as if anything ever was with damian wayne.
you stopped walking then, turned to glare at him through the passenger window. water dripped from your hair into your eyes, and you probably looked like a drowned rat, but you didn't care. "everything's a request when you're talking to me, wayne. i don't work for you."
he leaned across the seat, pushed the door open. "please."
the word was quiet, almost lost under the sound of rain on asphalt, but it hit you like a physical blow. damian wayne didn't say please. damian wayne didn't ask for anything, he commanded, demanded, expected compliance like it was his birthright. the fact that he was asking you, that he was looking at you with something that might have been concern, made your chest do that stupid fluttery thing again.
against your better judgment, you got in the car.
the silence was immediately suffocating. you dripped all over his leather seats, hyperaware of how out of place you looked in his pristine vehicle. your ratty sneakers left wet prints on the floor mat, and you were pretty sure you smelled like rain and the cheap shampoo from the dollar store.
this was a mistake. everything about this was a mistake.
"you'll ruin your seats," you mumbled.
"they're expensive seats. probably worth more than everything i own combined."
he glanced at you, something unreadable in his green eyes. "they're replaceable."
"everything's replaceable when you have enough money." you muttered biting your nails, while watching the water droplets race each other down the thin pane of glass.
the words came out more bitter than you intended, and you felt him flinch slightly. good. maybe it would remind him exactly who he was dealing with, the girl from the wrong side of town with nothing to offer someone like him.
"why do you do this?" you asked suddenly, turning back to face him.
"this." your hand moved in the space between your bodies, "whatever this is. you barely know me, and we're not friends, so why do you keep... showing up?"
damian was quiet for a long time, focused on navigating the rain-slicked streets. his knuckles were white where they gripped the steering wheel, and you found yourself watching the tension in his jaw, the way he held himself like he was preparing for impact. you wondered what it would feel like to reach over and smooth the worry lines from his forehead, to be the kind of person who had the right to touch him like that. there was something almost military in his posture, a kind of rigid control that spoke of training most teenagers never received.
"maybe i want to be," he said finally, and his voice was softer than you'd ever heard it, like admitting he wanted friendship was some kind of defeat.
you laughed, but it came out hollow and broken. "right. damian wayne wants to be friends with the weird girl who blows things up and gets called to the principal's office twice a day. the girl who doesn't belong anywhere, especially not in your world."
"i'm a walking disaster."
"you're," he stopped, jaw clenching. "you're more than you think you are."
the words should have been comforting. instead, they felt like a knife between your ribs. because what was the point? what was the point of being more when more would never be enough?
"i'm not a project," you said quietly. "i'm not something broken that needs fixing."
"do you?" you turned to look at him fully, taking in his perfect profile, his expensive clothes, the easy confidence that came from never having to worry about where your next meal was coming from. "because from where i'm sitting, it looks like you've decided to slum it with the charity case. maybe it makes you feel better about yourself, having a pet from the wrong side of the tracks."
this time, he actually flinched. "that's not-"
he pulled up in front of your building, a run-down town-house in a complex that had seen better days, probably before you were born. the contrast between his world and yours had never been more obvious, and the sight of it made something ugly twist in your stomach.
this was reality. this was who you were and where you came from, and no amount of expensive car rides or careful attention was going to change that.
"thank you," you said, hand on the door handle. "for the ride."
but you were already getting out, already walking away, already pretending that the rain on your face was enough to hide the frustration.
the third time he walked you home, you realized he'd been doing it all along.
it wasn't walking, exactly, more like shadowing. you'd catch glimpses of him out of the corner of your eye, always just far enough away to maintain plausible deniability, always managing to be heading in the same direction you were. at first, you thought you were being paranoid. then you thought maybe you were developing some kind of weird fixation.
but no. damian wayne was definitely, deliberately, following you home.
and it made you feel sick.
"this is creepy, you know," you called out one afternoon, not bothering to turn around. "like, restraining order levels of creepy."
there was a pause, and then footsteps on pavement. when you looked over your shoulder, he was there, hands shoved deep in his pockets, expression carefully neutral.
"uh-huh. and i'm not failing calculus."
"are you failing calculus?" there was something almost cutting in the way he asked it, like he already knew the answer and was judging you for it.
"that's not the point." you spun around to face him properly, anger bubbling up from somewhere deep and poisonous. "the point is that you're treating me like some kind of charity project, and i'm sick of it."
"you are." the words came out sharp, cutting. "you think i'm some poor little thing who needs rescuing, don't you? the damaged girl from the bad neighborhood who just needs someone to care about her, and then she'll magically turn into something worth your time. right?"
something cracked across his expression, raw and painful. "that's not what this is."
"then what is it? because i can't figure out why someone like you would waste time on someone like me unless you were getting something out of it. and the only thing i can think of is that it makes you feel good about yourself. like you're doing your good deed for the day."
"you don't know what you're talking about."
"don't i?" you stepped closer, close enough to see the flecks of gold in his green eyes, the way his jaw was clenched so tight it had to hurt. there was something dangerous in his stillness, like a blade held perfectly steady. "tell me i'm wrong, then. tell me this isn't about you feeling sorry for the poor girl who doesn't have anything."
"your neighborhood isn't safe," he said finally, the words coming out strained. there was something almost clinical in the way he said it, like he'd done research, gathered intelligence.
"my neighborhood is fine."
"there have been three muggings in the past month within a four-block radius of your building." the precision of the statement was unnerving, like he'd memorized crime statistics for fun.
you stopped walking. "how do you know that?"
"to crime statistics in random neighborhoods?"
"to things that might affect you."
damian was looking at you with that intense focus that made you feel like you were the only person in the world, and suddenly you were hyperaware of everything. the way his shirt pulled across his shoulders. the way his hair was slightly mussed like he'd been running his hands through it. the way he was sitting close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating from his skin.
"why?" you asked quietly, your voice barely above a whisper.
"why do you care what affects me?"
for a moment, he looked almost vulnerable. young. like the seventeen-year-old boy he actually was instead of the untouchable prince everyone thought he was. his eyes searched your face like he was looking for something, some sign that you might want the same impossible things he did. you caught him staring at your lips for just a fraction of a second before his gaze snapped back up to your eyes, and the hunger you saw there made your stomach flip. but underneath it all was something desperate, like he needed your approval more than his next breath.
"i don't know," he said, and it sounded like a confession wrapped in a prayer, like admitting uncertainty was the hardest thing he'd ever done.
but confessions were dangerous things, and you'd learned a long time ago that dangerous things always came with a price you couldn't afford to pay.
"well, stop," you said, hating how your voice shook. "whatever this is, whatever you think you're doing, stop. i don't want your attention or your protection or whatever weird fixation you've developed. i just want you to leave me alone."
you turned and walked away before he could respond, before you could see the look on his face, before you could do something stupid like apologize.
but you could feel him watching you go, and the weight of his gaze felt like judgment.
the pattern continued for weeks, but now it felt different.
damian would appear at your locker between classes, but instead of making dry observations, he'd just stand there. watching. waiting. like he was hoping you'd change your mind about wanting him gone.
he'd sit with you at lunch when you ended up eating alone, but the comfortable silence had been replaced by something tense and electric. he'd share his expensive bento boxes, but now it felt like charity, like proof of everything that was wrong between you.
they were small at first, easy to dismiss as coincidence. a new mechanical pencil appearing on your desk when yours broke. a coffee from the good place near school showing up at your locker with your name spelled wrong on purpose. books you'd mentioned wanting to read, left casually where you'd find them.
each one felt like an accusation.
"you have to stop doing this," you told him one day, holding up a first edition copy of a novel you'd been hunting for in used bookstores for months.
"this. the gifts. the constant hovering. the whole savior complex thing you've got going on."
he was sitting across from you in the library, supposedly working on calculus but mostly just watching you with that unnerving intensity of his. you tried to focus on your own work, but you kept catching glimpses of his hands as he wrote, long fingers wrapped around his pen in a way that made your stomach flutter traitorously. you wondered what those hands would feel like tangled in your hair, cupping your face, tracing the line of your spine. there was something almost predatory in the way he watched you, like he was cataloging every micro-expression for future use.
the thoughts made you feel sick with want and terror in equal measure. "i don't know what you mean."
"damian." you set the book down carefully, like it might explode. which, knowing your luck, it might. "this probably costs more than my foster mom makes in a month. you can't just give me things like this."
"i didn't give it to you."
you raised an eyebrow. "no?"
"i bought it for me. i thought you might want to borrow it first."
"that's such bullshit." the words came out tired, defeated. "can't you just admit what this is? can't you just say that you feel sorry for me and move on?"
something dangerous flickered across his expression. "is that what you think this is?"
"i don't know what else it could be."
"maybe i want to know you better."
"why?" the question came out broken, desperate. "why would someone like you want to know someone like me?"
"because you're," he stopped, seeming to wrestle with something. "because you're not like anyone else."
the words hit you like a slap, unexpected and sharp. you stared at him, taking in the frustration in his eyes, the way his hands were clenched into fists on the table.
"real," you repeated flatly.
"everyone else at this school is fake. they say what they think i want to hear, do what they think will impress me. they see the name and the money and the reputation, and that's all they care about."
"you told me to leave you alone."
"i know." he leaned forward, and suddenly the space between you felt electric. you could smell his cologne from here, that cedar and something clean that made you want to bury your face in his neck. "that's why,"
"why what? why you won't listen? why you keep pushing? why you think you can buy your way into my life with expensive gifts and dramatic gestures?"
his eyes dropped to your lips for just a moment, so quick you might have imagined it, but it sent heat shooting through your veins like lightning.
"that's not what i'm doing."
"then what are you doing?" the question came out louder than you intended, drawing stares from other students. you lowered your voice, leaning forward to match his posture. now you were close enough to see the flecks of gold in his green eyes, close enough that if you just leaned a little further forward...
you jerked back, heart pounding. "because from where i'm sitting, it looks like you've decided i'm some kind of project. the broken girl you can fix with enough attention and money."
"aren't i?" you laughed, but it came out bitter. "i'm the girl who sets things on fire when she gets angry. i'm the girl who gets suspended for fighting. i'm the girl whose own father couldn't stand to stick around. if that's not broken, what is?"
the silence stretched between you, heavy and suffocating. other students moved around you like you were stones in a stream, and for a moment, you felt completely separate from the rest of the world.
"i'm not trying to fix you," he said finally.
"then what do you want from me?"
the question hung in the air like a challenge, and you saw something shift in his expression. something that looked almost like fear.
"i don't know," he admitted.
and somehow, that was worse than any answer he could have given you.
the realization hit you like a freight train on a tuesday.
you were in ap chemistry, half-listening to mr. peterson drone on about molecular bonds, when damian leaned over to correct something in your notes. his shoulder brushed yours, and suddenly you were hyperaware of everything, the way he smelled like cedar and something clean, the way his hair fell across his forehead when he concentrated, the way his hand looked next to yours on the desk.
and just like that, everything clicked into place.
the walks home. the gifts. the way he looked at you like you were a particularly fascinating equation he was trying to solve. the careful attention to your safety, your comfort, your happiness.
damian wayne had feelings for you.
the thought was so ridiculous that you almost laughed out loud. damian wayne, heir to a fortune, academic genius, probably the most eligible bachelor at gotham academy, had feelings for you. the girl who set things on fire by accident and got called to the principal's office more often than she went to the library.
but the more you thought about it, the more sense it made. all those intense looks, the way he seemed to catalog your reactions to everything, the awkward little gifts and gestures. he wasn't trying to save you or fix you.
he was trying to win you.
the realization should have been flattering. should have made you feel special, wanted, worthy of someone's attention.
instead, it made you feel sick.
because this was so much worse than pity. pity you could handle, you'd been handling it your whole life. but this? this was hope, and hope was dangerous. hope was the thing that convinced you maybe you deserved good things, maybe you could have them, maybe you were worth someone's time and attention.
hope was the thing that destroyed you when it was inevitably taken away.
you snuck a glance at him out of the corner of your eye. he was taking notes in his perfectly neat handwriting, occasionally glancing over at your paper to make sure you were keeping up. there was something almost protective in the gesture, and for the first time, you let yourself really look at him. really see him.
he was beautiful, obviously. that had never been in question. but there was something else, something in the careful way he moved around you, like he was afraid you might bolt if he got too close too fast. like you were something precious and fragile that he was trying not to break.
and maybe that was the problem. because you weren't precious. you weren't fragile. you were sharp edges and bad decisions and a voice in the back of your head that whispered that good things never lasted, especially not for girls like you.
you were a bomb waiting to go off, and damian wayne was standing too close to the blast radius.
you started pulling back after that.
not dramatically, you weren't cruel enough to cut him off entirely. but you stopped seeking him out, stopped saving seats for him at lunch, stopped lingering by your locker in the hopes that he'd appear. when he offered to walk you home, you made excuses. when he tried to give you things, you politely declined.
it was better this way, you told yourself. safer. you could protect what was left of your heart before he inevitably realized what everyone else already knew, that you weren't worth the effort.
but damian, being damian, didn't make it easy.
if anything, your withdrawal seemed to make him more desperate. the gifts became more frequent, more personal. he started leaving little notes with them, nothing romantic, just observations about your day or dry commentary about your shared classes. notes that made you smile despite yourself, that you found yourself tucking away in your notebooks like secrets. he'd appear at your locker between every period, walking you to class even when it took him out of his way.
you started to notice things about him that you'd tried to ignore before. the way his eyes would light up when he saw you, like you were the best part of his day. the way he'd stand just a little too close, like he was drawn to you by some invisible force. the way he'd watch your mouth when you talked, quick glances that made your pulse race and your cheeks burn. the way he'd find excuses to brush against your hand when he passed you things, like he was starving for any kind of contact.
and god help you, you started to notice the way you responded to him too. how you'd lean into his space without meaning to. how you'd catch yourself staring at his hands, wondering what they'd feel like on your skin. how your breath would catch when he'd say your name, soft and careful like it was something precious.
it was like watching someone try to hold water in their hands, and it broke your heart a little more every day. because you could see it now, clear as daylight, the way he looked at you. like he was hungry for something he couldn't have. like he was trying to memorize every detail of your face before you disappeared.
and you wanted to disappear, because the alternative was admitting that you looked at him the same way. that you were just as desperate and wanting and completely gone for him as he seemed to be for you.
"you're suffocating me," you told him one afternoon, the words coming out harsher than you intended. but even as you said it, part of you wanted to take it back, wanted to tell him that the suffocating feeling wasn't from his presence but from how desperately you wanted to reach for him and couldn't.
he stopped walking, the hallway crowd flowing around you both. "what?"
"this. all of it. the constant hovering, the gifts, the way you look at me like i'm some kind of puzzle you're trying to solve." you turned to face him, taking in the hurt confusion in his eyes, and hated yourself for putting it there. "i can't breathe around you anymore."
there was something fragile in his expression now, like you'd cracked something open that he'd been trying to protect. "i'm trying to-"
"i know what you're trying to do." the admission felt like swallowing glass, like confessing to a crime you weren't sure you'd committed. "and i need you to stop."
"i dont understand, inst this what im supposed to do when courting someone?" the sentence came out barely above a whisper, his voice rough like always but now with a hidden touch of shame. you could see the way his hands clenched at his sides, the confusion on his face, like he was physically holding himself back from reaching for you.
"it's not going to work." the words came out broken, defeated, like a prayer you didn't believe in. "whatever you think this is, whatever you think could happen between us, it's not going to work."
"i do." you stepped closer, close enough to see the flecks of gold in his green eyes, the way his jaw was clenched with frustration. "you want to know why? because i'm not the girl you think i am. i'm not some misunderstood princess waiting for someone to see past the tough exterior. i'm exactly what i look like, damaged goods from the wrong side of town."
"it is." the words felt like tearing something vital out of your chest. "and someday you're going to realize that, and you're going to move on to someone who actually deserves your attention. someone who can give you what you need instead of just taking up space in your life."
"don't tell me what i need."
"someone has to." you laughed, but it came out cracked and bitter. "because apparently you've convinced yourself that you want something that's only going to hurt you."
"maybe that's my choice to make."
"and maybe i'm trying to save you from making a mistake you'll regret."
the silence stretched between you, heavy with everything you weren't saying. other students moved around you like you were ghosts, and for a moment, you felt completely invisible. you wanted to tell him that you dreamed about him sometimes, that you woke up with his name on your lips and an ache in your chest that felt like mourning. you wanted to tell him that you kept every stupid note he left, that you'd read them until the paper was soft from handling.
instead, you whispered the thing that scared you most.
"is that what you think you are?" he asked quietly, his voice rough like he'd been shouting. "a mistake?"
the question hit you like a physical blow, and for a moment, you couldn't breathe. because yes, that was exactly what you thought you were. you'd been a mistake since the day you were born, an accident that ruined your parents' plans, a burden that drove your mother away, a problem that followed you everywhere you went.
but looking at damian now, seeing the way his face had gone soft with something that looked like emotions, and not the good kind, you almost believed him when he said you weren't.
"yes," you whispered, the word barely audible.
something cracked across his expression, raw and painful and completely unguarded. for just a moment, you saw past the careful mask to the boy underneath, the one who looked at you like you hung the moon, the one who left gifts at your locker like offerings at a shrine. the one whose eyes followed you down hallways like he was memorizing the way you moved. the one who you'd caught staring at you in chemistry class with an expression so hungry it made your chest ache with want and fear. but there was something else there too, something that looked like he was trying to prove himself worthy of your attention, like your opinion mattered more than anyone else's ever had.
the one who was going to break your heart just by existing, because you were falling for him and there was no way this ended well for either of you.
"you're not," he said fiercely.
but you were already walking away.
it had been a few days before you saw him again. you'd been avoiding him like the plague, and for the first time in almost a year he'd gotten the hint and stayed far away.
but oh how you wish he hadn't.
you missed seeing him at your locker after every class, you missed knowing he risked his perfect attendance just for the mere act of walking you to your next class, you missed the random things that just happened to appear in said locker out of no where. missed the lectures he gave you on why your attitude should be different towards other people only for the conversation to turn into an argument about how he does the same.
you missed him. and it didn't help that for some reason the universe decided that after your last talk, after hurting him and possibly breaking his heart. the same thing would happen to you.
the first time you saw damian he was kissing someone else, you weren't supposed to see it.
you'd stayed after school to make up a test you'd missed during one of your impromptu trips to the principal's office, and you were cutting through the parking lot when you saw them. damian pressed against the side of his car, arms wrapped around some girl you vaguely recognized from your ap history class.
they were kissing like the world was ending and they were the only two people left alive. her perfectly manicured hands were fisted in his shirt, pulling him closer, and his arms were loosely placed on her waist like he never wanted to let her go. she was everything you could never be, graceful where you were clumsy, soft where you were sharp, put-together where you were constantly falling apart.
and damian was kissing her like she was oxygen and he was drowning.
part of you, a tiny treacherous part that you immediately tried to silence, felt something like relief. at least it wasn't you. at least you didn't have to be the one to break his heart when you inevitably self-destructed. at least he'd found someone who could give him what he needed, someone who deserved the careful way he was touching her face.
but the relief was quickly swallowed by something much darker. rage, pure and simple, that he'd moved on so easily. that all those months of careful attention and expensive gifts had meant so little that he could replace you with the first pretty girl who looked at him twice.
how long had he been planning this? how long had he been looking for someone better while pretending to care about you?
the sight hit you like a physical blow, stealing the air from your lungs and leaving you gasping. you watched him touch her face with the same careful reverence he'd once reserved for ancient books and complex equations, watched him smile against her lips like she'd just solved every problem he'd ever had.
this was what love looked like, you realized with devastating clarity. not the awkward gifts and careful conversations you'd shared. not the tentative friendship you'd been so desperate to protect. this was real love, passionate and consuming and beautiful in a way that made your chest crack open.
you stood there frozen, watching the boy you'd fallen for kiss someone else with more tenderness than he'd ever shown you, and felt something die inside your chest. all those moments you'd treasured, the walks home, the shared lunches, the way he'd look at you like you were worth something, suddenly felt pathetic. childish. like you'd been playing house while he was out here living in the real world.
the worst part wasn't even the kissing. it was how fast he'd moved on. how easily he'd replaced you. like all those weeks of following you around had been nothing more than a phase he'd grown out of.
when you finally managed to move, to turn away and stumble toward the bus stop on legs that felt like water, you caught one last glimpse over your shoulder. damian had pulled back just enough to look at her, and his face was soft with something that looked like wonder. like he couldn't believe his luck.
but even from this distance, even through your tears, you could see something wrong with the picture. the way his smile didn't quite reach his eyes. the way his hands hung at his sides instead of pulling her closer. the way he looked almost like he was playing a part in someone else's story.
it should have made you feel better. it didn't.
the sight of his happiness, real or performed, was what finally broke you. you ran then, tears streaming down your face, that terrible voice in your head whispering that you'd been right all along.
good things didn't happen to people like you. and apparently, you weren't even good enough to keep someone's attention long enough for them to realize how damaged you were.
later, you'd wonder if you'd imagined the way he looked like he was drowning instead of being saved. later, you'd wonder if the girl in his arms had felt like a consolation prize instead of a victory.
but that night, all you could think about was how easy it had been for him to replace you.
you avoided him completely after that. even more than before.
it wasn't just skipping lunch or taking different routes between classes anymore. you stopped going to chemistry, stopped showing up to calculus, spent entire days hiding in the library or cutting classes altogether. when teachers asked where you'd been, you made up elaborate excuses about family emergencies and doctor's appointments.
the truth was simpler and infinitely more pathetic, you couldn't bear to see him happy without you.
because that was the worst part, he did look happy. you'd catch glimpses of him in the hallways with her, see the way his mouth would twitch when she'd grab his hand or lean up to whisper something in his ear. it was a different kind of expression than the ones he'd given you, warmer and more open, like he'd finally stopped holding back.
it should have made you glad. you'd wanted him to find someone better, someone who could give him what he needed. mission accomplished, right?
instead, it felt like watching him live a life that should have been yours.
"you look sad," lily said one morning, catching you staring at your reflection in the bathroom mirror. the girl looking back at you was hollow-eyed, with dark circles that makeup couldn't quite cover.
your six-year-old foster sister was standing in the doorway in her pajamas, clutching the stuffed rabbit she'd had since she came to live with you three months ago. she had that serious expression she got when she was trying to figure out the adults around her.
"i'm fine, lil," you said, forcing a smile. "just tired."
"you're always tired now. and you don't eat dinner anymore." she padded into the bathroom, climbing up onto the toilet seat so she could see you better in the mirror. "mrs. chen says that means you're sad about something."
mrs. chen was your elderly foster mother, who took in kids for the small monthly checks and mostly left you alone as long as you kept lily out of trouble and didn't burn the house down.
"mrs. chen talks too much," you muttered.
"is it because of the boy?" lily asked with the blunt curiosity that only children possessed.
you nearly dropped your eye-shadow palette, curtesy of yours truly of course you'd never be able to buy something as stupid as a eighty dollar makeup palette. "what boy?"
"the one who used to bring you coffee. and other stuff. and that time he brought me the art supplies when i was sad about my drawing getting ruined."
your chest tightened. you'd forgotten about that, the day lily had come home crying because some kids at school had torn up her artwork. damian had appeared the next day with an entire art kit, expensive colored pencils and sketchbooks that had made lily's eyes go wide.
"he was just being nice," you said weakly.
"he looked at you funny."
"like how beast eric looks at belle. all crazy and pretty." she giggled at her own description, then sobered. "but he doesn't come around anymore. did you make him go away?"
the question hit you like a physical blow. out of the mouths of babes.
"yeah," you whispered. "i think i did."
"because i'm stupid, lily. because i get scared when good things happen, and i ruin them before they can ruin me."
she was quiet for a moment, swinging her legs from her perch on the toilet seat. then, with the devastating simplicity of a child, "that's dumb."
"thanks kid. really helpful."
"you should tell him you're sorry. and that you didn't mean it."
"because..." you trailed off, staring at your reflection. how did you explain to a six-year-old that some people were meant to be temporary? true love isn't always true? not that you loved him... right?
"because i'm scared he won't forgive me," you said finally.
the question hit you like a physical blow, and suddenly your legs couldn't hold you up anymore. you sank to your knees on the cold bathroom tiles, a sob tearing from your throat so violently it felt like it might break your ribs.
"but what if he does?" you whispered to yourself, and then you were crying, really crying, the kind of ugly, desperate sobs that shook your entire body. your chest heaved as months of suppressed pain came pouring out, all the hurt and loneliness and self-hatred you'd been carrying around like stones in your stomach.
"hey, hey," lily's voice was small and scared, and suddenly her little arms were wrapping around your shoulders, her stuffed rabbit pressed between you. "don't cry. please don't cry."
but you couldn't stop. you cried for every wall you'd built, every bridge you'd burned, every time you'd chosen fear over hope. you cried for the boy who'd tried to show you kindness and gotten your cruelty in return. you cried for the girl you used to be before life taught you that good things didn't last.
"i ruined everything," you sobbed into lily's shoulder, her small arms holding you like you were the child instead of her. "i ruin everything i touch, lil. everything."
"no you don't," she said fiercely, her small hands reaching to wipe your tears, rather roughly. "you take care of me. you help me with my homework. you make the best grilled cheese in the world."
"because," you pulled back to look at her through your tears, this little girl who'd been through just as much shit as you had but somehow still believed in happy endings. "because you're stuck with me. he had a choice, and we both chose someone else."
"but what if he wants to choose you now?"
the question lodged itself in your chest like a splinter, sharp and impossible to ignore. what if lily was right? what if there was still a chance to fix what you'd broken?
what if you were brave enough to try?
three weeks later, damian cornered you in the library.
you'd been hiding in the back corner, surrounded by dusty philosophy books that no one ever checked out, when suddenly he was there. just standing at the end of your table like a ghost made flesh, looking tired and frustrated and somehow smaller than you remembered.
the sight of him hit you like a physical blow. he was still beautiful, still perfect, still everything you could never have. but there were dark circles under his eyes now, and his usually pristine appearance was slightly rumpled, like he'd been running his hands through his hair.
"we need to talk," he said quietly. his voice had that edge to it that suggested this wasn't really a request.
"no, we don't." you kept your eyes on your book, even though you hadn't turned a page in twenty minutes. your hands were shaking so badly you could barely hold it steady. "i think we've both said everything we need to say."
"i haven't said anything."
"exactly. actions speak louder than words, right?" you finally looked up, and the hurt in his eyes almost made you look away again. there was something almost predatory in his stillness, like he was a hunter who'd finally cornered his prey. "how is she, by the way? your girlfriend?"
something cracked across his expression. "she's not my girlfriend."
you laughed, but it came out hollow and broken. "right. because making out in parking lots is just casual for you, i guess. must be nice, having so many options."
"wasn't it?" you slammed your book shut, the sound echoing in the quiet library. "because from where i was standing, it looked like you found exactly what you were looking for. someone perfect and beautiful and everything i could never be."
"am i? because you looked pretty happy with your tongue down her throat." the words came out harsher than you intended, but you couldn't seem to stop them. months of hurt and jealousy and self-loathing were pouring out of you like poison. "tell me, how long were you looking for my replacement? how long were you just humoring the charity case until something better came along?"
"stop." the word came out sharp, commanding, but you were past caring about his comfort.
"stop what? telling the truth? you want to know what the truth is, damian?" you stood up, chair scraping against the floor. "the truth is that i was stupid enough to think maybe you actually cared about me. maybe you saw something in me worth saving. but i was just a project, wasn't i? the broken girl you could fix with enough patience and expensive gifts."
"and when i didn't play along, when i didn't fall at your feet with gratitude, you moved on to someone who would. someone who deserved your attention." your voice was rising now, and you could see other students starting to stare, but you were beyond caring. "someone who wouldn't embarrass you at fancy parties or set things on fire when she got upset."
"you have no idea what you're talking about."
"don't i?" you stepped closer, close enough to see the flecks of gold in his green eyes, the way his jaw was clenched with frustration. "then explain it to me. explain why you spent months following me around like a lost puppy, and the second i started pulling away, you had your tongue down someone else's throat."
"because you told me to leave you alone!" the words exploded out of him, loud enough to make everyone in the library turn and stare. "you pushed me away at every turn, told me i was suffocating you, said you didn't want my attention. what was i supposed to think?"
"you were supposed to fight for me!" the admission tore out of your throat, raw and desperate and completely humiliating. "you were supposed to see through all my bullshit and realize that i was scared, not uninterested. you were supposed to,"
"i tried." his voice was quieter now, but no less intense. "i tried everything. i went out of my way to try and show you how i felt. you know how humbling it was to ask my brothers for romantic advice? i followed you home to make sure you were safe. i brought you things i thought would make you smile. i sat with you when you were alone, i helped you with your homework, i-"
"you gave up on me." the words came out broken, barely a whisper. "the first time i pushed you away, you gave up and found someone easier."
"and you let her. you kissed her back, and you held her like she was precious, and you looked at her like she was everything you'd ever wanted." tears were streaming down your face now, and you didn't bother to wipe them away. "do you have any idea what it was like? watching you choose someone else?"
the silence stretched between you, heavy with everything you'd never meant to say. damian's face had gone completely still, and for a moment, you thought he might not respond at all.
"i thought you didn't want me," he said finally, so quiet you almost didn't hear him.
"well, congratulations. you were wrong." you wiped at your face with the back of your hand, leaving streaks of mascara on your skin. "but it doesn't matter now, does it? you've got her, and she's perfect, and you're happy. so we can both just pretend this conversation never happened."
you grabbed your bag, shoving books into it with shaking hands, but before you could walk away, damian's hand shot out and caught your wrist.
"wait," he said, and there was something desperate in his voice. "i broke up with her."
you stopped, staring at him. "what?"
"i broke up with her. three days after, after you saw us. because i couldn't stop thinking about you. because kissing her felt like betraying something, and i didn't even know what."
"you," you swallowed hard, trying to process what he was saying. "you broke up with her?"
"i never wanted her. i wanted you. i've wanted you since the first time you told me to fuck off in ap chemistry." he was still holding your wrist, his thumb brushing over your pulse point in a way that made your skin burn. "i've wanted you through every argument, every time you pushed me away, every moment you made it clear you couldn't stand me being near you. i've wanted you so badly it felt like drowning."
you stared at him, taking in the desperate honesty in his eyes, the way his hand was trembling slightly where it touched your skin. "then why," your voice cracked, barely audible.
"because i'm an idiot. because when you told me to leave you alone, i thought maybe if you saw me with someone else, you'd realize..." he trailed off, running his free hand through his hair. "i thought maybe you'd get jealous. maybe you'd finally tell me what i did wrong. maybe you'd finally admit that you wanted me too."
the last words came out like a confession, raw and desperate. you could see it now in his face, all the longing he'd been hiding. the way his eyes kept dropping to your lips. the way he was holding onto your wrist like you might disappear if he let go.
"you didn't do anything wrong." the words came out broken, defeated. "that's the problem. you were perfect, and i was terrified."
"of this. of wanting someone so badly it scared me. of caring about someone who was going to leave eventually." you looked up at him, taking in the way he was watching you like you were something precious. "everyone leaves, damian. everyone realizes i'm not worth the effort."
"aren't you? you moved on pretty fast."
"i never moved on. kissing her, dating her, it was all just..." he shook his head, and you could see the self-loathing in his expression. "it was me trying to forget about you. trying to convince myself i could want someone else. but i couldn't. every time she laughed, i wished it was your laugh. every time she touched me, i wished it was your hands. every time i kissed her, i was thinking about you."
the confession hung between you, raw and honest and everything you'd never dared to hope for. you could see the way his chest was rising and falling, like he'd just run a marathon. like admitting he wanted you had taken everything he had.
"i saw you," you whispered, your own voice cracking with the weight of it. "that day in the parking lot. and it felt like dying. but also like... like maybe i deserved it."
you blinked, startled by the fierceness in his voice. "what?"
"i'm glad it hurt. i'm glad you felt something, because i was starting to think i'd imagined everything between us." he stepped closer, and suddenly you could smell his cologne, that familiar cedar scent that made your chest tight with want and memory. "i'm glad you cared enough to be jealous. because i've been losing my mind trying to figure out if any of this mattered to you."
"i wasn't jealous, i was-"
"heartbroken." the word slipped out before you could stop it, and damian's eyes went wide like you'd just given him something precious. "i was completely, utterly heartbroken watching you with her. because i realized i'd fallen for you somewhere along the way, and i'd been too scared to admit it until it was too late. because seeing you happy with someone else felt like watching my own funeral."
"isn't it? you've seen what i'm like. you know how i push people away, how i ruin good things. you deserve someone who won't make you work so hard just to,"
the silence stretched between you, heavy with possibility and fear. damian was looking at you like you'd just handed him the world, and you felt suddenly exposed, like he could see right through to your rotten core.
"what if i want to work for it?" he asked quietly. "what if i want to fight for you, even when you're fighting me?"
"you'll get tired of it eventually."
"what if i don't?" he reached up, brushing a tear from your cheek with careful fingers. "what if i'm the exception to your rule?"
you stared at him, this beautiful, impossible boy who was offering you everything you'd ever wanted and been too scared to ask for.
"i don't know how to do this," you whispered. "i don't know how to let someone care about me without waiting for them to leave."
"then learn with me." his hand was warm against your face, thumb tracing your cheekbone. "we'll figure it out together."
"what if i mess it up? what if i hurt you?"
"then we'll fight, and we'll make up, and we'll keep trying." he leaned closer, until his forehead was almost touching yours. "what if we stop asking 'what if' and just... try?"
you thought about lily's words, about the weight of regret you'd been carrying, about how empty the world had felt without damian's constant, stubborn presence in it.
when he kissed you, soft and careful and achingly gentle, it felt like coming home to a place you'd never been brave enough to visit. his lips were warm against yours, and for the first time in weeks, you felt like you could breathe again.
when you broke apart, he pressed his forehead against yours, and you could see the smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.
"so," he said quietly. "can i walk you home?"
you laughed, the sound shaky but genuine. "yeah. you can walk me home."
and as you walked through the streets of your neighborhood, damian's hand warm in yours, you thought maybe lily had been right. maybe everything hadn't changed.
maybe everything was finally beginning.
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