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“... Hey. Did you really mean it?” Desmond asked one morning after breakfast, ages after everyone’s already left.
“...”
“What? Where is this coming from?” Damon asked, green eyes deadpanning, over a bowl of (not) honey nut cheerios. They’ve been alone together in what had become awkward suspended silence after the last late riser, Ulysses, had left the dining hall. He knows Desmond has no reason to be here. Desmond knows. They both know that he’s usually racing to run off to the courtyard the first chance he gets.
This isn’t the first time Desmond’s acted funny around him, either. In fact, the amount of times Desmond has tried to talk to him has shot up in the past week alone, and most of the time the debater was already talking to someone else. So there he was, listening to whatever inane ramblings Cassidy had to projectile vomit into the world, or even worse– Jett, all while the ever-present shadow of a certain smooth-talking marksman and his stupid face hovers over him… And effortlessly sliding into the conversation with no regard to the feelings of whoever was there first. Such as a certain someone who really, just for a hot minute, didn’t want to look him in the eye for a while.
It was just his luck that he had to get a load of Desmond when he least wanted to.
“In the trial, you know.”
“The trial.” Damon’s brow raised. Skeptically.
The other ultimate stopped. Rolled his shoulders. “Too soon?”
“... No?”
I don’t want to be here right now. Thought Damon.
“Well,” Desmond decides now is the time to act all shifty, much to the debater’s irritation, “I just…”
No. He’s had enough of this. “Spit it out. I don’t know what you’re talking about if you don’t say it.”
Desmond stops. He thinks he’s thinking it over. The marksman’s brows were pushing together as a wry, almost embarrassed smile bloomed across his face. “... Uh. That thing about me.”
‘That comment about my “charm” ‘, are the last words Damon wants to hear. And of course, they’re the exact ones that are brought up. His blue eyes stare back at him as if Damon would know what to do with that information, and then he’s staring back, and then he keeps staring back–
“So.”
“That was a mistake.”
“Huh?”
“A slip-up.” Damon insisted.
Desmond awkwardly laughed. “That being…?”
The blond’s brows furrowed. “I didn’t mean to say that.” Are you going to make me say it?
“Relax, I’m not accusing you of anything…!” Desmond’s quick to reassure him. He’s always doing that.
“You brought it up.” Fine, I’ll bite. Damon steels himself as he prepares to settle this, once and for all. “Talking about your ‘charming face’. That was a mistake that I shouldn’t have made in the trial and won’t happen again.”
“...”
“... It was ‘remarkable charm’.” Desmond corrects him.
“... Right,” Damon coughs.
“You know, you kinda get weirdly defensive about these kinds of things. Anyway– that takes me to the question I wanted to ask.” Desmond hurriedly moves on, but as he reaches the question that brought these two to this very dining table in the first place, he looks… Up? Almost hopefully? “Do you uh, really think of me that way?”
… Huh?
Huh???
“In what sense of the word ‘way’ are we talking?” Damon finds himself stammering out, to which Desmond surprisingly interrupts.
“Okay.” The marksman started. “Okay. Let me rephrase this…”
“What do you really think about me?” Desmond’s face looks at Damon’s gravely. His eyes shift away again. “I mean, I’m just asking because I’m kind of confused about your uh, feelings.”
“I…”
Now it’s his turn to look away. It was a loaded question, and it would be an insult to his intelligence told otherwise. “What kind of question is that!?”
“I’ll be more clear, I’ll be more clear!” His eyes widen–
– “I got what you meant…” Damon finds himself rising from his seat. “No, I don’t have feelings for you.”
The entire dining room fell silent. His cereal’s gone warm forever ago. Desmond’s tongue is stuck to the roof of his mouth. Damon’s hands are planted firmly on the table. “What do I think? What do I actually think? I think you’re a decent guy. You’re respectful, non judgemental– and surprisingly easy to get along with. You're also dedicated. Disciplined. I could’ve tolerated you as an acquaintance if I’d met you elsewhere.” You're just like me, he wants to say.
But he doesn't. "You're good to people," his mouth runs on. "You're always looking out for people weaker than you. You wanna make sure they're okay and you go out of your way to do so. I can respect that about you."
...
Huh? Why does it feel like the mood’s lifted?
Damon watches with confused and bated breath as Desmond smiles at him, small and sweet.
“Hey, I’m glad you feel that way.” A light chuckle escapes the other man. “I think you’re a decent guy too. Maybe a little hard to get along with at first. But you usually mean well, even if you go about it strangely.”
Heat immediately floods his cheeks.
“That’s supposed to be a compliment?” Damon asked, trying to sound unimpressed.
But he doesn’t bite the bait. “I should ask you the same?”
“I wasn’t done yet anyway.” Pause. “You’re also smart. You’re good at piecing the bigger picture together. Haha, what you come up with-- I'm not sure I'd come up on my own." His small chuckle, is something Damon doesn't mind hearing another time. "We’re lucky to have you.” Desmond touches his chest with the same warm smile. “Honestly, I was a little worried earlier that I was pushing our conversations too hard. I thought you were annoyed by me.”
Damon doesn’t know what to say. Isn’t this the acknowledgement he’s always wanted? Hoped for? That his hard work would put him in a place where his peers can respect him? He really doesn’t know how Desmond keeps doing this. He’s not even mad anymore. Ahem. “No, you weren’t. You’re… alright, I guess. I don’t mind talking to you.” Now that’s gotten out of the way… “But that was a week ago, Desmond. You could’ve asked me this days ago.”
Were you really thinking about that, that long?! (And he was following him around just so he can find him alone?! Other people might think he was looking for an opportunity to murder him!).
“Haha…” A guilty look is all he needs for his suspicions to be confirmed. “Yeah.”
Desmond moves on. “Well, I’m happy to hear we’ll be talking more.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Oh? Was I wrong to assume?”
“No, I–” Ahem. Get a hold of yourself. “... Yet. I didn’t say that yet. I’m not against it. Just as acquaintances.”
“Acquaintances.”
“Yeah.”
“I guess it’s too early for ‘friends’.”
“Definitely.”
Silence.
“Anyway. Is that all you wanted to ask me?” Damon’s about fed up, sitting back down with his arms crossed..
“... Last question. Sorry.” Desmond’s cheeks redden as he scratches the back of his neck.
“Do you /really/ think I’m… ‘charming’?” Seems like he’s already read the barrage of retorts Damon has prepared for him, to which he quickly responds: “just– yes or no.”
His eyes dart back and forth. He really doesn’t want to answer this, but if he doesn’t answer this, Damon’s gonna have him following him around for the next few days– isn’t he?
“... Yeah, sure, why not.”
“Yeah.” Desmond smiles. Blinks a couple times dumbly, swallowing thickly. “Yeah, thanks.”
“You have pretty nice eyes, too…”
And because of course, those are the last words Damon gets before the guy screws off to the courtyard, no explanation, no elaboration. Nothing.
… Oh god, this is going to be a reoccurring thing, isn’t it?