Work Text:
The front door slams shut; you can hear the hinges squeak with the force of the shove all the way from your office. Raising your head, you knit your brows together and rise from your desk chair to step through the doorway.
There stands Damien, hastily shrugging off the jacket of his suit and—sniffling. You lean in to see that his eyes are faintly red and puffy, and his cheeks shimmer against the light of the home with what appear to be tears. A pang of worry claws at your chest as you hurry over. “Damien?”
He doesn’t acknowledge your voice initially. His head turns away as he hangs up his discarded jacket and kicks off his shoes. Then, with a shaky inhale, he gives you his reply. “I’m afraid I’m going to be quite busy this afternoon, dear heart. You may have to eat dinner without me.”
“That’s not what I was going to ask.” You frown, reaching out to set your hand on his arm. As soon as the two of you make contact, though, he pulls away and walks further into the living room. You follow. “What happened?”
“It’s nothing. Just a long day at the office.” You’re unsure if you’ve ever heard his tone be so snippy towards you; usually, that’s reserved for particular members of City Hall who pester him to no end. “Please don’t worry yourself about me.”
“I’m going to be worried as long as you keep turning away from me and refusing to look me in the eye.” You argue.
“It’s nothing.”
The repetition of his dismissal brings frustration to settle on top of your concern. Reaching out for him again, you try to catch his attention, “Damien—”
“I’m fine!” He whirls around on you, “I told you I’m fine! Why do you refuse to believe me?”
You pause, hand retreating back to your torso.
His chest rises and falls rapidly. Fingers coiling around his cane and gripping it tightly, you’re not sure if you’ve ever seen him look this hostile towards you—or towards anyone, really. His pupils are blown wide, magnified by the tears increasing in appearance along his waterline as his cheeks turn red, possibly holding back a sob.
Your chest aches at the mere sight of him. At this rate, though, you’re afraid he might shatter if you try arguing again. Instead, you take a few cautious steps forward and extend your hand back to him. “Darling…”
His stature trembles. Initially, he doesn’t budge. You keep your offer open. “You—... You don’t have to tell me what’s going on if you insist on it. But I can’t stand here and watch you hurt on your own like this… We’re together, right? That makes us one and the same. I share your burdens, and you share mine.”
He only stares at you now, bottom lip quivering. If you weren’t so worried about him, you could almost compare him to a sad, wet puppy.
Gently, you try to coax him with a ‘come here’ motion, offering a small smile. “Can I give you a hug, at least?”
Something in him finally caves. His shoulders sag before he drags himself over and falls into your arms, a muffled sob following shortly after. Your heart twists with sympathy as you hold him close. “Damien, darling…”
Damien tries to choke out an apology. You softly shush him, rubbing comforting circles into his back and rocking the two of you in a slow sway. He lets his arms settle around your waist as he melts into you and finally accepts your embrace fully.
And that’s where you stay until his cries settle: slow movements, quiet words of reassurance, and—most importantly—making sure he knows you’re not leaving him to grieve whatever it may be on his own.
Damien lifts his head after a few good minutes of being held like this, eyes still red and eyelashes clumped together. He glances at you with a look of shame, unsure of what to say at first before words just spill from his mouth, “I’m… Sorry for that little outburst.”
“I appreciate and accept your apology,” you hum. “I know your temper can get the better of you sometimes, but just know that I want to help you. You’re not going to be very successful in pushing me away when I know you’re hurting.”
“I know.” He exhales, straightening and wiping his face with his shirt sleeve. “You should probably know this news, too. It—” he stalls. Eyes growing subtly glassy once more, he sniffles and continues with a softer voice, “It affects us both.”
Now it’s your turn to tense. Your brows knit with concern as you slowly nod. “Well… Let’s sit down first. We’ll talk about it.”
Damien nods, and you guide the two of you over to the couch nearby. Sitting down, you grab a blanket that’s been draped over the top and unfold it. “Tell me what’s going on.” You offer, turning to wrap it over both of you before taking one of his hands into yours.
He presses his lips together, looking to be thinking for a moment. You rub gentle circles over the back of his hand, tilting your head and patiently waiting.
“Uhm…” He starts, “I—well, I got a letter from Mark while I was working.” His eyes flick downward, refusing to make eye contact with you, as if he’s the cause of whatever he’s about to inform you of. “He…” You notice his hand suddenly tighten around yours. He doesn’t want to finish his sentence.
“It’s okay, Dames. You don’t have to tell me right—”
“Celine left.”
You swear your heart stops beating for a second. “What?”
“With William.” He adds swiftly after, a small voice crack hidden in his attempted composure.
You’re not sure how to feel initially. Concern is both flooded with grief and anger; how could she—how could they—do such a thing? Not only to the two of you, but to Mark. God, the poor man…
“I—I don’t understand. I should’ve seen it happening, should’ve noticed…” Damien starts, but you don’t let him finish.
“You are not going to blame yourself for this, Damien.” You assure. “This is in no way your fault. I know you and Celine are close, but… You can’t always protect her from her own choices.”
He starts to open his mouth, but you interrupt with a gentle squeeze of his hand. “Don’t do that to yourself. You’ll only be hurting worse than you already are.”
With a small sigh of defeat, he leans in to let himself sink into you. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay, darling, you have no reason to apologize. I know you want to try and keep everyone happy—it’s in your nature. But you can only help others so much.” You press a gentle kiss to his temple.
He only gives a short nod in reply. You brush his hair back with your free hand, your touch tender against his still-trembling form. You yourself feel unnerved by this news; you can only imagine a fraction of how he feels, how long he sat in his office with tears streaking down his face and dripping onto his abandoned paperwork once he set Mark’s letter down. The image brings a frown to your lips as you gently tug him closer, pressing another kiss to his head. “I love you.”
“I love you too, dear heart.” He murmurs in reply, “Thank you.”
The two of you end up cuddled there for the rest of the afternoon, only parting to cook a quick and low-effort dinner so neither of you starve. The sour mood lingers in the air—your eyes occasionally catching a glance of Damien struggling to keep himself composed—but an occasional word of comfort or a squeeze of the hand settles him enough to finish the rest of the day. You make sure to stay close and assure him he’s not suffering alone; and of course, he does the same for you—as you said yourself, you’re together. Your burdens need just the same gentle care as his.