“Damian?” A voice calls from behind Damian’s front door. “Are you there?”
Two more knocks.
“I thought I heard you talking.”
“Shit,” Damian mutters under his breath. He begins making his way over to the entrance, but Aoi grabs hold of his wrist and tugs him back.
“You’re going to answer it? Just like that?” The young woman is mortified. She is sure that most the colors that once resided in her face have long left it now. “Are you insane?” she snaps.
“Ah.” Damian scratches the back of his head with a single finger. “I think I know who it is now, though,” he says.
Her grip tightens around his skin. “You think? Or you’re sure?”
“I’m sure!” Damian yelps; he tries to break free of her hold. “I’m sure!”
Aoi decides to trust him. She releases Damian, then regrets grabbing onto his arm in the first place, for her hands now throb with pain at the effort.
The young woman bites her lip.
She tries to ignore the pain. To hide. Not wince, at the ache in her veins.
Damian reaches for the front door’s handle, then pulls it open without much hesitation at all.
He frowns. “Lucas…”
“That’s my name!” Lucas grins. He enters the modest apartment with a tower of boxed cakes, that he balances atop the inside of his elbows.
“No—” Damian cringes, then shakes his head. “No, Lucas,” he brings an open palm to cover his eyes. “Didn’t you get my texts? I told you I couldn’t take any more. Don’t do this…” He groans, exasperated. “Please, not tonight.”
Lucas perks up without a care in the world. He sets his army of cakes down by the only counter in Damian’s miniature kitchen. “Nope, I didn’t get word of it at all!” he chimes. “My phone was off, sorry! But,” he turns toward Aoi and blinks twice. “Who’s this?”
Damian’s shoulders slump over. With his head hung low in defeat, he goes back to lock the door behind Lucas’s figure. “Fine…” he mutters, under his breath. “You can stay for a little bit. Just don’t—”
“Hey, hey, does she also like pastries?” Lucas hovers around Aoi like a small child would, upon seeing candy and balloons. “I have more in my car! If she wants, I can go get—”
“I don’t eat pastries,” Aoi tells him; her tone is brief, and slices the joyful cheer in two, that had lingered in the air behind Lucas’s words.
“Oh.” Lucas pulls away. He squints at her as if he is trying to figure out whether or not Aoi has the face of someone who dislikes sweet things.“ Would you rather something sour, then?” he asks. “Or…” The young chef hums. He crosses his arms, then taps the end of his chin with a single one of his fingers. “Salty, perhaps?”
Aoi shakes her head. “Neither. But thanks for asking. I’m sure what you make is delicious.”
The young woman can tell her new acquaintance is confused. She doesn’t blame him. Sometimes, she finds herself being a tad perturbed by the situation, too. “Will you be coming with us?”
“Huh?” Lucas furrows his brows. “Coming with you for what?”
“The road…” When Aoi looks over her shoulder, to where Damian is standing, silent and still, she immediately understands that their humble vacation was meant to be a secret, by the way her friend has paled. “—Trip?” Aoi’s voice cracks.
She cringes and internally apologizes to Damian, who remains rather speechless, despite his usual self.
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