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It’s quiet.
A strange thing to ascertain, but it’s the first thing Damon could think of in the moment, after bombardment of inquiries and general commentary. Kai’s got mastery of that domain. He’s made it quite clear in the way he endlessly strings his words into a jumble, tangentially connected by small threads. It’s a subtle method, and Damon himself couldn’t see how much his boyfriend had carefully crafted such elegance in his ramblings until he started to actually listen.
Or perhaps he’s gotten used to it. A conversation about where to eat for lunch leads to, somehow, Kai talking about how evil it was for one of his favorite hangout spots to outright reject him because of his fans.
In doses, it’s fine. It only becomes borderline annoying when Kai’s complaining. Or maybe all these complaints came from when they weren’t dating.
But it’s not that, now. Kai’s already slumbering, and his voice lost upon impact. It voice trails into a quiet murmur, which Damon gladly accepts as he continues required reading. Poetry wasn’t Damon’s strong suit, but from experience, English classes don’t solve itself with premeditated answers. And it was nice to have at least someone to consult with interpretation, even if Kai himself had already scrambled the messages beyond belief.
The faintest memory of that conversation replays in Damon’s mind, like a chilling echo. This Robert Frost, he stated, seemed like a follower himself if he’s dictating what other people want him to think.
To wit, Damon had pointed out that there’s truly no way of knowing that you’re even in the right path. See, it’s right in the text. Worn out the same.
And Kai, he was pretty sure that just means one’s just been used more for a reason.
This kind of back and forth was rewarding; verbal battle after verbal battle leads to Damon quickly defending his viewpoints so as to not twist the point he proven. Kai didn’t pretend to to back up his thoughts with superfluous facts, nor does he hide his lack of knowledge with anything of note. Stripped away from every overwhelming facet that could make an argument tatter into pieces. It was the only thing he didn’t hide from Damon. At least, not fully.
Maybe it’s such a coincidence that he started having these confusing, infuriating feelings called love for him the exact moment he started to mind these flaws. Flaws that used to be daily annoyances, now placated.
And now, Damon’s reading the poem alone, highlighting when possible the passages when he hears snoring from his left. His eyes dart towards where Kai’s face is
Up close, Damon can pinpoint all the marks that make Kai, sans - perhaps highlighted - by concealer and removed by any filter that could be applied. Where the makeup smudges to hide pimples and the strands of eyebrows that start to extend beyond the pigment of his eyebrows. His eyelashes weren’t false, but there were growing too unruly. And no matter how much the internet wants to believe it, Kai isn’t what they call ‘symmetrically beautiful.’
Imperfect.
Not to say Damon never considered Kai perfect. Not even dating Kai could erase the huge blemishes on his record and the blunders that followed afterward. Unpaid intern at blocking the unnecessary trolls that plague his comment section. Damon found at least enough restraint from not messaging them outright, tainting Kai’s reputation forward.
But the more he’s spend time with him, the more human he’s become in his mind. Not this unmovable object of idolization everyone online seems to be so well versed about, but a guy who whines at the thought of roller blading and complains about the lines in the grocery store. Someone with the innate knowledge of lighting and marketing and video editing but absolutely bombing at written reports.
He wasn't as articulate as Damon, but fuck, he was pretty. In both appearance and in craft.
They say that's how romance blooms. Better half and all that. If that were true, how could he be the burden that Kai chooses as a boyfriend?
A strand of hair lands on Kai’s nose, a twitch. With great precision, Damon swipes the strand to under his ears. The roots that betray the box dye were already over an inch long. Damon considers calling Diana to help retouch, but if he could, he would try his hands on dyeing Kai’s hair for fun. Not that anyone needed to know. Damon Maitsu, above everything else, was as real as they come.
Did Kai ever thought of Damon as less than perfect? He always pushed on by and included Damon in different activities and events, but that wasn’t any indication on Damon as a person. Just that he was friendly. But he had not a bad word to say about him. Always something new to bring that would, if not make him smile, then at least make Damon reconsider.
He loved his hair. But that wasn’t anything but genetics and how it lightened so much when he started growing up.
He loved his voice. A huge compliment coming from Kai, but Damon didn’t see anything noteworthy about his voice; just that it was good at projecting when need be.
He loved that he listened. But isn’t that what you’re supposed to do? Listen and wait for the appropriate reply? Of course Damon listened, otherwise he would look like a fool.
He loved so much about Damon that he always considered ordinary. Parents together. Normal school life. Teachers and classmates alike. Being able to enjoy his lunch without the absolute need to photograph it for the world to see or adjusting it to make it just a little more appealing. So much concentrated on just how pathetically normal Damon's life is, talent or no talent.
Is that something to love, when all Damon wants is to avoid the notion of less than extraordinary?
If Kai was awake, it be much easier to push Damon's thoughts in the burner and focus his boyfriend's voice, booming with life with whatever rave or rant he had prepared. But the focus now is Kai, asleep and washed in peacefulness. Mesmerizing.
And utterly hopeless for Damon.
One hand pushes the book so it laid flat on his chest, the other is holding onto Kai’s face. Warm, unlike the breeze in the room. Damon would like to close the window if he could, but with an arm around his torso, it’s unlikely. Under these circumstances, lying without disturbing Kai was his best priority.
The lights strain his eyes. Maybe this was a sign for him to stop reading. A break that isn’t optional, given that all the poems are still blending together in Damon’s mind.
But the breeze is unbearable. The chill escapes only where the blanket ends; escaping it will mean braving unforgiving weather, something Damon refuses to cooperate with now.
Not with Kai providing warmth by mere presence alone.
Damon doesn’t even have a bookmark, so he does the awful thing and dog ear the corner of the page while he adjusts himself to slot within Kai’s grasp. His arm pinned, a dull ache arises but still, Damon wraps his hand to the best of his abilities towards Kai’s face. His free arm tugs at the blanket so that it engulfs them from the neck down.
The breeze still persists, with or without Kai as a heater. Damon decides, fuck it, he’ll live with this and the arm ache. His free hand slings itself around Kai's shoulder as Damon scoots in closer just to feel something else instead of unbearable stings of the cold.
It’s instantaneous, how much that works. There’s something in Damon that spirals, from full on cold to peace that the icy touch melts away into Kai’s arms.
Maybe a break is worth it. When Kai is here, maybe a break was always worth it.
So Damon lets sleep consume him for the moment, the whispers of Kai's breath what he hears last.