freshly out of the shower, closely shaved, the reflexion staring back at him in the mirror finally looks decent enough that there isn’t word despair written all over his feature anymore. or, in the words of his best friend: he finally stopped looking like shit. it is resigned that, against his first instinct, he had followed amani’s instructions, and got ready for the funeral, somehow inspired by the pep talk he had received, but also pushed by this feeling that he owed it to her. after everything she did, or tried to do, for him -— wasn’t it the least he could do, really? she deserved at least his presence at her funeral. even if guilt clouded thorn’s judgement, attending still felt like the sensible thing to do. there’s a sighs that escapes him; even now, even though thoughts should have been cleared and mind made up, he’s still distracted. uncomfortable. the suits already feels constricting on him, as if only because of the implications that comes with wearing it.
he is way too distracted to truly pay attention to what he’s doing, thoughts tumbling in his head, trying to figure out what he would do or say if kelly’s family asked for answers. what could he possibly say to them when he knows; it couldn’t have been a simple accident. all he feels at the prospect is dread. but then again, he has to remind himself that he’s got to do this. still: distracted, he sure is. and the only response to amani’s remark is a simple oh. only then is he finally noticing the other’s presence by his side; he doesn’t even have time to fix his tie himself that his friend’s hands are already reaching out to adeptly readjust the item. for a second damien gets lost in thought again, while his eyes stay fixed on the other. it’s only when his friend signals that he’s done that damien’s attention becomes undivided and he nods. “thank you.” and somehow, it means a lot more than just the tie.
blakekathryn
andulkaphoto
tangentwithtanner
theartofmadeline
dailybridgerton
janainaart
