Aria barely slept. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw Damian standing at the staircase, half-shadowed, half-revealed, watching her with that enigmatic expression that felt like a warning and a draw at the same time. She stopped pretending to sleep by daybreak. The house was silent, her mother still asleep, the early light barely touching the walls. She headed downstairs, hoping the morning would cool whatever tension had fallen between them over night. But when she stepped into the kitchen, she stopped. Damian was already there, leaning against the counter with a mug in hand, looking like he had been standing in the same location for hours. Something in her chest clenched suddenly.
He didn't look at her at first, but she could tell he sensed her presence. His shoulders shifted slightly, his respiration deepened, and she felt the weird awareness between them sharpen. When he finally turned, the early light fell across his face, highlighting the corners of tiredness she hadn't observed last night. "You're up early," he replied, his tone cool but not casual. Aria crossed her arms, trying to ground herself. "So are you." Damian took a leisurely drink of coffee, his gaze never leaving hers. "Couldn't sleep." She nodded, though that wasn't really a response. She moved further into the room, and for a moment, neither of them spoke. The stillness had weight—too intense, too intentional.
Aria opened the fridge only to have something to do, but she felt Damian's eyes on her back like heat. It wasn't intrusive—just steady, precise, like he was analyzing details she didn't realize she carried. She took a bottle of water and turned, leaning on the counter opposite him. "Is my mom the reason you're here? " she asked finally. The question escaped before she could filter it. Damian's look didn't shift, but something sparked beneath it—something guarded. "Partially," he replied. What about the other part? " Aria pushed, unable to resist. Damian placed the cup down slowly, the soft ceramic tap sounding louder than it should. "I came because something unfinished needs attention." His words wrapped around her like smoke—thick, impossible to ignore.
She looked closely at him. He seemed to be carrying stories he wasn't ready to share, and his presence felt heavier today. "Unfinished like what?" she questioned, lowering her voice without meaning to. Damian exhaled—a subtle, controlled release. He remarked, "Your mother didn't tell you why she called you home." Aria stiffened. "No," she admitted. "She just said it was important." He nodded, as if he had expected that answer. "It is." There was weight in his tone, but no explanation. Aria's frustration flickered. "You're talking in circles." Damian held her eyes for several seconds, steadfast. "Because your mother should explain it first," he replied. Something in his gaze softened—barely, but enough for her to notice. More than his silence, it perplexed her.
The sound of footsteps upstairs interrupted them. Unaware of the tension building below, her mother's voice drifted softly, humming carelessly. Damian straightened as if switching masks—whatever emotion he'd let to surface went instantaneously. Aria saw the change, the way he was able to conceal himself behind an impenetrable wall. "She's waking," Damian muttered. Aria pushed herself upright. "Well. Perhaps she will be able to clarify at last. Damian didn't answer immediately; instead, he grabbed for his cup again, his fingers stroking the surface with undue precision. He said, "Aria," to get her attention again. His voice had dipped, almost hesitant. "Before anything is said today… be prepared for truths you won't like." Her heartbeat stuttered. The warning felt too personal.
A moment later, her mother came into the kitchen, happy and unaware. "Morning, you two," she chimed as she grabbed a pan. Aria took a step back and observed her mother and Damian interacting. Something unspoken passed between them—something heavy, maybe regret, maybe history, maybe secrets. Her mother avoided looking directly at him, yet positioned herself close enough to acknowledge his presence. Aria's perplexity increased. "Mom," she murmured, impatient. "What's going on? " Her mother froze for a heartbeat, her smile dimming. "We'll talk after breakfast," she said too soon. Damian's jaw clenched. Aria noticed it immediately. Whatever this chat was intended to be, he already knew the truth. And he wasn't thrilled with how her mother planned to reveal it.
Breakfast dragged painfully. Everything was discussed by her mother, with the exception of why Aria was at home. Damian kept quiet, speaking only when necessary, watching the table more than the individuals at it. Aria was unable to sit still due to her twisted nerves. Finally, she pushed her plate away. "Enough," she firmly declared. "Tell me what's happening." Her mother took a short breath and glanced at Damian as if to ask for forgiveness, permission, or a warning. "Aria," she began, voice quivering slightly, "I didn't want to tell you over the phone because… because it's complicated." Damian's fists tightened around his cup. Aria felt a frigid flood of fear. Whatever the reality was, both of them were too tight for it to be something simple.
Aria did not accept her mother's hand as she reached across the table. "There are things about the past you don't know," she whispered quietly. "Things Damian was involved in." Aria's attention snapped to him. Once more, his demeanor was unreadable; it was aloof, shuttered, but not uncaring. "Like what? " Aria demanded. Her mother swallowed. The room grew silent. "Like why he left... and why he's back now." Damian finally lifted his gaze, and the passion there made Aria's breath catch. "Your mother is right," he said. "There's more to this than you realize." Aria's pulse raced. Whatever truth lay beyond this moment, it felt like the kind that would affect everything—past, present, and whatever perilous connection was building between her and Damian.