Chapter Text
It started innocuously enough. The new guy was a… curiosity. Violent, quick-tempered, and jumpy. And strong. Damon had watched him crush a man’s windpipe effortlessly, shoot a man point-blank without hesitation. He had a wild look in his eyes that was more captivating than Damon would like to admit.
So he watched. Watched Juniper fight under the guise of learning his style, figuring out how to work around him. Aya bought it easily, but Calderon pulled him aside.
“You don’t need to watch Juniper so closely,” the Commander said, frowning. “I know he’s new and… somewhat unpredictable, but he can certainly hold his own in a fight. Try to trust him a little bit.”
Ah. So he had noticed. Damon must have been sloppy.
“Still getting a feel for things, Commander, been a while since I worked in such a tight unit,” Damon lied, shrugging in a way meant to mimic nonchalance, “I’ll try to rein it in.”
Calderon studied his face carefully, his eyes narrowed. Damon was horrified to realize his cheeks were going pink.
“Damon…”
“What,” Damon snapped, far too quickly, and he watched as Calderon’s eyes widened. The Commander frowned, opened his mouth, frowned again, so deeply his brow furrowed. When he spoke again, it was as if the words were painful.
“Just don’t let it interfere with anything,” he sighed.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Damon said, ignoring the way his face burned. “If you don’t need anything else, I’m going to go to bed.”
“Good night,” Calderon said through gritted teeth, and Damon tried to make his exit look like anything but a hasty retreat.
--
Over time, Juniper became June, and he was still jumpy, but less violent, his prickly exterior giving way to a soft heart.
That was, of course, infinitely worse. The first time he smiled at Damon, a sweet, unpracticed thing, he nearly dropped his favorite mug on the kitchen floor. Apparently, away from whatever was haunting him, June was kind and patient and his status as a generally good person placed him far out of Damon’s league.
Unfortunately, the universe had never been kind, and Damon ran into June more frequently than close quarters could account for. The kitchen had become their unofficial meeting spot during the night cycle, both of them too prone to nightmares to sleep more than a few hours. June didn’t talk much, but it was clear he didn’t want to be alone. Damon could understand that.
But sweet, quiet June was no less captivating than wild, violent Juniper, and far more agreeable. June complimented Damon’s baking, listened starry-eyed to his stories, and laughed brightly at his jokes. He trusted Damon enough to leave his back open when he rifled through cabinets, liked him enough to seek him out almost every night.
So honestly, the hair thing shouldn’t have been such a surprise. But June’s hair had gotten long enough that he had to tie it back to keep it out of his face, and when Damon asked why he didn’t just get it cut, June flinched so badly he knocked over his cup. Damon caught it before it tipped fully, set it upright again.
“I just…” June’s voice was small and shaky, “I don’t want someone I don’t know near me with anything sharp.”
“You know me,” Damon said, before he had even thought about saying it, “I’m good with knives. Give me a few days, I’ll figure it out.”
Despite considering himself well-versed in June’s facial expressions, Damon had never seen this one. June’s cheeks were quickly going red, and his bottom lip trembled as if he might cry.
“You’d do that?” he asked quietly. “You’d learn for me?”
Damon quickly stomped down the response that he’d do anything, electing for something a little more casual.
“‘Course. Can’t have hair in your eyes when we’re in the field.”
June smiled, wide and watery, and Damon was certain that he was fucked.
--
“Does your hair stylist use any particular kind of scissors?” Damon asked, trying to be casual. Aya looked up from her holopad, one eyebrow raised.
“Why?” she asked, her eyes sparkling with mischief. Shit. It was too late to back out now that he had her full attention.
“I may have told June that I would cut his hair. I don’t know how to cut hair.”
It was silent for exactly three seconds before Aya burst into laughter. Her eyes crinkled when she smiled and Damon absolutely was fond of her, but that did not make him want to kill her any less.
“Are you going to fucking help me or not?”
Aya turned back to her holopad and quickly pulled up a video. It was some excessively peppy man swinging a pair of scissors in a way that could only be described as concerning. Damon wasn’t exactly sure it would help, but he’d take what he could get.
“What are you getting out of this?” Aya asked, looking at him from the corner of her eye. Damon resolutely ignored the little smirk on her face.
“Nothing. Can’t I be nice for no reason?”
“No,” she said easily, “you’ve never been before. Remember when I asked for help getting the cereal from the top shelf and you dropped the box on my head?”
“That was once.”
“I have more examples.” Aya snickered, reaching out to poke Damon in the side. “Maybe you just want him to like you. He’s handsome, isn’t he? And you’ve been spending a lot of time together.”
“I don’t,” Damon grumbled. He cursed his circulatory system for the blood rushing to his face, wondered how much it would cost to replace it with bionics. Aya gasped and dropped her holopad, rounding on Damon like a hound smelling blood.
“Ohmygod. Usually you’d say something like I don’t have to try or who cares if he likes me. You actually do-”
“I need you to shut up right now,” Damon hissed. “Or I am going to break every single one of your fingers.”
Aya closed her mouth, but her eyes were still bright and teasing. She picked up the holopad and handed it to him.
“Beauty tutorials,” she said, “You’ll pick it up fast.”
As he left the room, holopad in hand, Aya called after him.
“Hey! Go get your man!”
“Shut up!”
--
Cutting June’s hair every few weeks became routine, and aside from Aya’s comments about the inherent homoeroticism of allowing someone to put a blade to your head, nothing came of it. They still met in the kitchen most nights, and Damon still tried far too hard to act normal. June recruited Bash and Bash brought on Ryona, and the six of them settled easily into a routine. If Damon was honest, which was rare, but possible, he loved Ryona. She was kind but not soft, her wit and temper as sharp as any dagger. Her calm was contagious, and if nights were for the kitchen, days were for the infirmary.
“What did you think of the book?” Ryona asked, shaking Damon from his thoughts.
Right. Book club. It had been Ryona’s turn to pick, and she had chosen an old Earth book about the Wild West, whatever that was. The hero had been some brave, dashing blond, his smile as dangerous as his pistols. Somehow, he saved the town from bandits singlehandedly and won the affections of the sheriff’s daughter in the process. It was all very cliche.
“Saw the ending coming a lightyear away. Deputy was in league with the bandits, hero gets the girl.” He shrugged. “It was fun though, I liked the cowboy.”
Ryona smiled knowingly, her golden eyes twinkling.
“I thought you would.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Damon asked flatly. He very much did not like where this was going, even less when Ryona’s smile widened.
“I don’t know, Damon. A handsome, easygoing gunslinger with a dazzling smile? He seemed like your type.”
Fucksake. He really should have seen that coming. Ryona beamed, angelic, and although he could never hate her, he was coming close.
“You chose this book on purpose, you terrible, terrible woman.”
“Of course,” Ryona hummed, “I wanted to know if you were really so predictable.”
Damon put his head down on the table, ignoring Ryona’s melodic laughter.
“Who fucking told you? Was it Aya? I’ll kill her if it was.”
“You did,” she laughed, “I wasn’t sure until just now. But I suspected. And you know how Bash gossips.”
Damon briefly contemplated throwing himself out of the airlock. Ryona patted his head gently, running her fingers through his hair. It felt calming and maternal and almost enough to call him back from the metaphorical ledge.
“You know this means that everyone knows. Except June.”
“You could tell him,” Ryona suggested, not unkindly. “And if it makes you feel better, Bash didn’t know.”
“Didn’t know? Until when, exactly?”
“Until Aya told him,” she giggled, and Damon groaned.
--
Damon had never been a coward, not really, but he was exceptionally good at avoiding his problems. If he stayed in his room more often at night, took Ryona on missions instead of June, that was his business. Maybe if he didn’t see June for a while, this stupid feeling would go away. The disappointed glances Ryona kept giving him were almost worse, but at least she didn’t try to make him talk about it. It would only be for a little bit, until his traitorous heart calmed down.
The knock on Damon’s door startled him from a half-sleep, his heart kicking into overdrive. It had to be late, the last thing he could remember was settling into bed with a book. He shuffled over to the door and opened it, finding a clearly anxious June on the other side.
“Everything okay?” Damon asked, looking him over for injuries. June nodded, then shook his head.
“Can I come in?”
Damon stepped aside to let June in, tried to ignore his hammering heartbeat. The fear from being woken up had subsided, quickly replaced with whatever this was to keep his heart pounding in his chest. So much for calming. June shifted from one foot to the other, fidgeted with one of his bracelets.
“I’m sorry,” he said suddenly, and his expression was so pitiful that Damon winced. “I’m not sure what I did, but I didn’t mean to offend you, I-”
“Wait, hold on,” Damon interrupted. “Why do you think you offended me?”
He knew this expression now, the flush-faced and teary one. June was about to cry, Damon realized. Oh no. Oh no.
“You’ve been avoiding me.” June sniffled. “And you never did before, so I- I figured I must have done something.”
Well, if it wasn’t the consequences of his actions. Damon grimaced.
“Fuck. No, June, you didn’t do anything.”
“You don’t have to lie about it.” June’s guileless and devastated face twisted the knife in Damon’s gut. It was almost easy to forget he had seen this man kill multiple people with his bare hands. “I understand that you’re upset, but if you just tell me, I’ll try to fix it.”
He sniffled again, hiccupped, and Damon watched with horror as the first tears fell.
“No, no, June, listen, I swear to god it isn’t you.” This was not the way he wanted to do this, not that he wanted to do it at all. But seeing June cry and knowing it was his fault was a torture he couldn’t withstand.
“Then why..?” Another sniffle. God, when did Damon get so softhearted?
“It was my fault,” he admitted, “I didn’t want to have to deal with… no, that’s not right. Fuck. I didn’t want you to find out that I have feelings.”
June laughed weakly, tried to smile. Damon considered ripping his own heart out.
“I know you have them. You cried when Ryona made you read that one play.”
“I thought we agreed not to talk about that ever again,” Damon sighed. “And you aren’t making this any easier, cowboy, be quiet for a second.”
June’s eyes widened. He watched Damon carefully, let him collect his thoughts.
“I have feelings about you specifically. I like you. A fucking lot. Kinda have since… an embarrassingly long time ago. And I thought maybe if I avoided dealing with it for a while, it would go away. Except that meant avoiding you too. So. I’m sorry. Please stop crying.”
That was a new expression. June’s whole face went red, his eyes wide to an almost comical degree. His bottom lip trembled for a terrible moment, like he was going to start sobbing in earnest.
“I- you…” June gestured wildly between the two of them. “ Me?”
“Why not?” Damon asked, defensive, and June smiled brighter than Damon had ever seen him.
“Because you’re you. Aloof and cool and… you could get anyone you wanted. Just didn’t think… I mean I never thought it’d be me.”
He sniffled again, wiped his eyes on his sleeve.
“I mean I’d hoped, but…” he trailed off, looking away sheepishly.
He’d hoped?
“You’d hoped?” Damon blurted, and June smiled nervously.
“Yeah. I’d hoped.”
“Come on, cowboy, tell me straight out. I even said it first.” Damon tried to cover his desperation with teasing, and by June’s lopsided smirk, it hadn’t worked in the slightest.
“I like you,” he said sincerely, “I’ve liked you for months. Since you said you’d cut my hair. I want you to like me.”
He paused, shifted, then stepped in closer.
“And I’d like to kiss you. If that’s alright.”
“If that’s alright. Fucking kiss me then.”
June smiled, leaned in, and kissed him. And kissed him, and kissed him until they were both flushed and breathless. Suddenly, Damon understood Ryona’s romance novels a little bit more.
“Fuckin’ hell, you mean we could have been doing that months ago?” Damon chuckled. June beamed.
“Guess we have to make up for lost time.”
“You think you’re so smooth. God, cowboy, I can’t believe I’m in love with you.”
Shit. Damon hadn’t admitted that to anybody, least of all himself, and he had just gone and said it and he was halfway down the road to panicking when June kissed him again, soft and sweet.
“But you are,” he murmured between kisses, “you’re in love with me,” and if this was how Damon was going to die, it was a good way to go.
—
Many kisses and a nap later, Damon woke up curled against June’s side. June was awake already, smiled softly when Damon met his eyes.
“I was wondering something,” he said, and Damon prepared himself for the worst. Still, somehow he wasn’t ready for the question.
“What is a cowboy, anyway?”