#c:damien

There was something complex in the brew the bartender provided Damien, he had a hard time pinning down what flavors lingered on his tongue and which were easy to wash away in thought. A bright orange note burst by the back of his mouth while something smooth and sweet lingered at the front. He didn’t know much about magic or spells, all he knew was that this beer was crafted locally and whoever made it created one fine concoction. Damien sipped it as he surveyed the bar once more, he had ended up in the small pub for the same reason he always ended up there: he had been looking for someone. When he failed to find them, again, he began looking for a drink.  

Darkness seemed to leak through the cracks of the old building, its occupants didn’t seem to mind and Damien blended right into the crowd. No one took notice of him, that is, until he caught a body draw close in his peripheral to his table. Damien was not someone people frequently approached and for good reason. Turning to see who’d provoked his attention, a small grin pulled at the corner of his lips as he found a familiar face. “Well,” Damien took the time to regard Milo, something about him had changed since they’d last met but he couldn’t see what, “been a minute since I’ve seen you. Figured you packed up and left, or died. Seems to be a pretty common theme with this town.” 

Milo had never credited himself with the ability to function as a human being. It seemed his automatic response, regardless of the situation, was to look for a drink, or the closest hit. It had never been an issue before now, though he felt sure Dani and his parents would claim otherwise, but he was no longer human, he was something other, and this obsessive need to avoid his problems continued to draw him back into town. A place he shouldn’t be, a place he knew he could do an awful lot of damage. He was only a few drinks in, barely enough to warrant a buzz, and he had been careful to frequent the shadows, choose the tables furthest from the crowds. There were merits to this tactic, he felt more in control, less afraid of himself. But there were negatives too.  

He was given far too much time to dwell on the fact that he was dead. Clinically dead, as far as he could tell. He had spent days struggling to find any semblance of a heartbeat. The empty sensation was as uncomfortable as the bloodlust. But what else was there to contemplate when he was alone? His anxiety only weakened by the alcohol in his system, usually he liked to assume he would be smarter than approaching the first familiar face he saw. But he wasn’t thinking straight, and he didn’t exactly feel as though anybody could judge him for that fact. Desperate for company, he recognised Damien immediately. An almost hook-up from a few weeks prior. Jeez, had it only been a month? He scrambled out of his seat, downing his beer before making his way over to where the man was sitting. Attempting to keep his distance without drawing attention to what he was doing, he forced a casual smile. “Hm, something like that.” He muttered. “Did you miss me?”  

The grin on Damien’s lips grew to reveal a row of teeth, his mouth breaking open briefly as a sharp laugh cut through the air. He couldn’t help the piercing amusement Milo’s question brought on. Damien recalled the night they met, though it was starting to grow hazy as all memories do as they age. It didn’t help that he'd had a few to drink that night, same as now. He knew that Milo had noticed how his attention lingered longer than it should. “The bar was a little boring while you were out,” he admitted, though Damien had found plenty of things to keep himself occupied with. Most nights he ended up picking fights, others he pursued any information, they all usually ended him at the bottom of a glass.  

Damien took another drink of his beer, tilting his head slightly as he considered Milo where he stood. He didn’t remember the other trying to keep distance between them before, but some time had passed. Maybe he had learned more about Damien since last they’d met, discovered how chaotic he could be. It seemed unlikely, given the fact those who had learned what he was capable of belonged to the criminal climate of White Crest. That, and Milo didn’t seem to be the type to shy from danger before. “Did you just stop by to say hello or are you going to stand there all night?” Finishing what was left of his beer, Damien flagged the waitress down to request another, “don’t tell me you’ve found someone else to drink with.” 

“Everything is boring without me.” Milo teased, surprised by how easy it was to slip back into his usual speech patterns. When his life felt as though it was crumbling around him, it was almost comforting to realize he, as a person, hadn’t changed. He could still be sarcastic, still make a joke if he wanted to. “Well, lucky for you I’m back from the dead.” He added, leaning against the bar, tapping his fingers against his empty glass. It felt like a ridiculous thing to say, but surely there was no harm in a little wordplay. He was hyper aware of being in the centre of a crowd, hyper aware of the fact that his inebriation could work for him or against him. It didn’t exactly dampen the cravings, but it offered him an illusion of self control, one he was actively working not to trust. Damien was apparently the perfect distraction. It wasn’t as though they could pick up where they had left off, but he would settle for good company tonight. He missed good company.  

Feeling his smile falter just a little when he realized Damien had noticed his odd behaviour, he shifted awkwardly on the spot. His initial instinct was to move closer and prove he wasn’t acting strange, but that wasn’t an option. “Both?” He said instead, brushing off the question. “Look, my life has kind of become a shitshow, I haven’t showered in a few days and I’m not about to force that on you.” Wrinkling his nose, it was a surprisingly honest response. In fact, he was fairly certain he had never been more of a mess. Mentally, and physically, his self-care had taken a rapid decline, as if it wasn’t already lacking. “Why?” He grinned when Damien asked if he had found somebody new to drink with. The expression didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Are you jealous?” Glancing down at his empty cup, he lifted it, attempting to drain the dregs at the very bottom. “Actually, you’ll be pleased to know… drinking alone has kind of become my thing.” He set his glass back down, chewing briefly on his bottom lip. “I was planning to drink here until somebody is forced to drag me out of a gutter, you are a very unexpected treat.” 

It would have been easy to dismiss the change in Milo’s demeanor on the poor lighting, chalk up the way his smile faltered a little on the atmosphere or whatever other buyable environmental excuse one could produce. But Damien had spent too much time in the dark to be easily fooled by shadows. His gang had conducted most of their corrupt affairs at night, traded in illegal actions, provoked their worst enemies out into a fight till one pack finally chewed them apart. Damien listened as Milo confessed his life had been less than ideal lately, and there seemed to be some truth in that. Still, there was something unsteady about the man.  

Damien slid forward from his seat, slow enough that if Milo decided to leave he’d have the time to do so. Always, he had been bold, on the verge of carelessness really, and often enough he paid for it with a bruise he didn’t regret earning. Damien invaded the space between the two as he stood up, leaning forward and testing Milo’s boundaries. “You don’t smell funny to me,” he mused, giving way to a small grin. For a moment he lingered there before moving even closer to reach around Milo, freeing the waitress of the beer she’d brought to their table. A fresh glass was placed in his company’s hand before Damien fell back into his seat. “I don’t have a right to be jealous, you’re free to do what you want.” An honest answer, released with a small shrug before he continued, “a unexpectant treat? I’ve been called a lot of things in my time, but that’s a first. What the hell’s been going on in your week that makes you happy to see me?” Usually, he wasn’t classified as a sight for sore eyes, he was not welcomed company, but the residents of White Crest were all strange in the way they approached him.  

Milo hadn’t been expecting Damien to call his bluff. His entire body tensed as the man moved steadily towards him. He wasn’t sure how close he was intending to get, but he decided to stay planted. If he scrambled away from him that would only make him look suspicious. Holding his breath, tilting backwards just a little as he willed his friend to retreat, he swallowed, closing his eyes in an attempt to maintain control. “Please… don’t…” He muttered quietly, his voice strained as Damien leaned around him to pick up his glass. He felt guilty for saying anything the moment he saw the grin on his company’s face, but keeping his distance wasn’t exactly trivial. It was a matter of will power, and his will power had always been severely lacking. The moment Damien took his own seat again, Milo let out the breath he had been holding. A wave of relief washed over him, though he knew the sense of accomplishment would be short lived. Saying no to one temptation in an entire room of temptations wasn’t exactly something to be proud of. You could only be proud when you left the room. Wasn’t that how things worked? “I’m- uh, pleased to hear it?” He answered quietly, his heart not entirely in the statement. Usually he would have a comeback, something funny to say in response. But his mind was entirely blank.  

Staring down at the fresh beer in his hands, he used it as an excuse to avoid eye contact. “Yeah, well, maybe that’s a sign of just how terribly things are going.” He teased, attempting to fall back into his usual humour. “There’s a first time for everything, right? Really, nobody’s ever been happy to see you?” He struggled to believe that. From what he could remember of their past encounter, Damien had been entertaining, flirtatious, genuinely decent company. What could possibly make him think otherwise? “I don’t want to talk about it, okay? Imagine the worst of the worst, times it by ten, and you might get somewhere close, but it’s… whatever...” 

The reaction he received was hardly subtle. Damien had always found value in what made people cringe, he regularly looked for a person’s weakness in combat, exploited what made them flinch to guarantee an upperhand. It was a practice that carried over into his conversations too. The plea that broke from Milo was so low it could have been buried in the regular commotion of the bar, and Damien might have missed it too, if it hadn’t been for that sharp hearing he’d inherited after being bitten. He couldn’t tell what brought it out of him, but it seemed to bother Milo less when he took his seat again. 

The temptation to push on the subject despite Milo’s reluctance pressed into Damien’s thoughts but he took a long drink of his beer instead of asking about it further. He didn’t have a reason to pry, at least, not yet. “No, not usually,” Damien began to answer, a few people in town had learned of him, seen what he was capable of and accepted him, like Solomon and Nell. The wolf’s eyes set on something past Milo as he remembered his family, they were the ones who knew him, truly understood him, and happily welcomed him into their ranks. Damien’s gaze focused once more on Milo as he added, “really, that’s my fault though. I’ve made few friends in town but not many. Been caught up in a few fights, and don’t always end well.” It had certainly been more than a few but he didn’t elaborate. Damien nodded as Milo conveyed he didn’t want to talk about what was clearly bothering him. “My week has been fucking great, thanks for asking,” his tone was not harsh, joking lightly, “we’ve got more construction projects being drawn up every day. This week I’ll be clocking in overtime. We’re working on some old house right now and all the guys swear it’s haunted. Hell, I swear every house in this town is haunted in some way. ”  

Milo wasn’t sure Damien managed to hear his quiet plea over the noise that was surrounding them. If he had, he was grateful the man decided to act as though he hadn’t. He knew his behaviour was odd, but he wanted to pretend otherwise. He wanted to live in the moment, even if just for the night, and pretend things were normal. He wasn’t dead, he wasn’t responsible for taking someone’s life. He was Milo. Just Milo. “I’ll make a habit of it then. For you.” He offered a smile, finally able to appreciate the beer he was holding now that there was some distance between them. Leaning against the bar, allowing himself to get comfortable, he raised his eyebrows at the mention of fights. It wasn’t difficult to imagine somebody like Damien getting caught up in trouble. He wondered briefly whether he was the type to start them or finish them.  

A laugh escaping him as the subject shifted, he surprised himself by grinning easily. His first genuine smile of the night. “Am I being self-absorbed?” He asked, only half teasing. “It’s kind of my thing, you don’t want to take that away from me, do you? Not when I’m so fucking good at it?” His eyes shining, he listened with sincere curiosity as his company began to talk about construction projects. It suddenly struck him that he wasn’t entirely sure what he did to earn a living. “You’re a construction worker?” He asked, his smile faltering at the mention of haunted houses. It had never even crossed his mind to consider whether ghosts might be real. If vampires were then what else could be out there? “Like, actually haunted? As in you’ve seen a ghost?” 

Damien wanted to discourage Milo from making that habit, ward off any sort of promise and the smile that trailed after it. The life he had chosen was threaded with chaos and ruin, his pursuit of revenge only promised bloodshed. No need to drag anyone else into it. Briefly, as the words were uttered by Milo, his jaw tensed as if any semblance of kindness struck him like a punch. Who in their right mind would give a fuck about him? Damien was quick to dismiss Milo, he considered himself good company for the night, but nothing more. It wasn’t like he had a reason to think Milo could endure him longer with the distance kept between them.  

“You can be as self-absorbed as you want, if the next round is on you,” Damien replied, masking his previous tension under a slack grin till all bothersome thoughts became a distant memory. The beer helped. He took another drink, his glass already half empty once more. “I am,” the answer came easy, construction hadn’t ever been his trade but he learned most of the tools to the business on site. The guys he worked alongside were friendly enough and never asked too many questions. It was for the best really, at times they’d discover past horrors in houses and didn’t know if it had always been there, or if someone from the crew added it. No one ever asked. “I’ve never seen any ghosts, I think they’re full of it. A guy the other day said he saw some woman walking about and then some of our tools went missing. He said she doesn’t want us to work on the house. Sounds like an excuse not to work, if you ask me.” Damien shrugged as if to say it couldn’t be helped and took another drink of his beer.  

Milo noticed the shift in Damien’s expression, but in the same way Damien had chosen to ignore his strange behaviour, he figured it was only fair to return the favour. “Oh, you’re gonna make me pay for the drinks?” He raised his eyebrows, a laugh escaping him. “Fine, but this may just financially ruin me.” He teased, pulling out some folded notes, sliding them towards the bartender. His company didn’t need to know he was already financially ruined, or that he had swiped the dollar bills from the coat of an unsuspecting patron. It wasn’t the first time he had stolen to support a habit, it probably wouldn’t be the last. Turning his attention fully back to Damien when their future drinks had been paid for, he listened to him elaborate with a quiet smile.  

It might look as though he was feigning interest, but after the worst month of his life, after being forced to re-evaluate his entire existence, having a trivial conversation about construction work, and ghost stories felt exactly like what he needed right now. “You do?” He asked. “Really? Some guy you work with saw a ghost?” Unable to hide how amused he was by the idea of a dead woman stealing someone’s tools, he took a long drink before offering a shrug. “I think I’d be pissed too, you know. If I was stuck in a house forever, I’d want it to stay looking how it looked when I was alive. Otherwise it wouldn’t feel like home anymore…” 

Damien’s grin cut just a little deeper into his cheek as Milo freed up some bills for their next round. Really, he hadn’t expected him to pay their way and wouldn’t have objected to contributing towards the tab, but if there was one thing he couldn’t say no to it was a free drink. “Next time I see you around here, the drinks will be on me,” it wasn’t so much as a promise as it was an offer, Milo was free to take it up or leave it. Damien lifted his glass and finished it, accepting the new one with a nod of thanks rewarded to his company.  

“I do,” Damien wasn’t much of a believer in the supernatural, he would have never thought werewolves actually existed until he was met with the proof of their teeth digging into his skin. The event didn’t make him a believer of other unnatural creatures, though White Crest had a way of challenging him on that front. “He said he saw a woman,” Damien leaned forward over the table as he made the statement, emphasizing his disbelief in his co-worker. It was there Damien was forced to feel the influence of the alcohol, his head felt light from the movement before his back crashed back into the seat. He’d have to pace himself through his next drink if he hoped to make it back to his apartment standing. “None of us have seen her though. I haven’t.” The wolf’s head tilted as he digested what Milo said, contributing a few moments after with, “well, that’s the hard part though. These old houses aren’t going to stand much longer without work being done. They can either change, or continue to decay.” A small smirk developed on his features, “if I had to be stuck somewhere in the afterlife I’d aim for a place in the city. Things would always be changing but they’d never be boring. Who needs peace when they’re dead though, right?” 

“Next time?” Milo asked, raising his eyebrows with a smirk. “So there’s going to be a next time?” It made him feel as though he might still be able to fall back into his old life. Parts of it, at the very least. If some things didn’t have to change then maybe, just maybe he would be able to stay sane. “You know I’m going to take you up on that offer. I never say no to a drink.” As if to prove his point, he took a sip from his glass, listening to Damien as he began to elaborate on the woman his colleague had seen. Never in his life had he been forced to take a stance on whether he believed in the supernatural. It had been meaningless, inconsequential. Now, it was something he considered more often than not. Almost every second of every day was spent grappling with the fact that he was dead. That he had no heartbeat. He craved literal Human blood. If he existed, then what else was out there? 

Catching the implication behind Damien’s tone, he laughed quietly, grateful to be drawn out of his thoughts. “Is this colleague not a reliable source?” He asked, his eyes shining with a quiet humour. “I know how that goes…” He was fairly sure he could approach almost anybody from his past and tell them he was a vampire. Without a doubt they would assume he was high, brush off his admission as the ramblings of somebody who couldn’t be trusted. “You’re the ‘see it to believe it’ type, huh?” He leaned backwards just a little as he waited for his company’s scent to fade. Every time Damien leaned towards him, or shifted in a way that created a draft, he was reminded of just how much he was risking. “Hm, I guess that’s true.” He took a moment to mull over the logistics. “Then maybe it isn’t about being pissed. Maybe she’s got a thing for builders.” He teased. “Maybe she likes to watch.” His tone was suggestive, he couldn’t help himself. Any opportunity to make a joke, to feel as though things were as simple as they used to be. 

Taking another drink when Damien began to talk about how he would like to spend his afterlife, the subject felt a little too close to the very thing he was trying to forget. He took in the words, making an effort not to fully process them so that their conversation could remain light, and easy. “I don’t think you get to choose where you end up.” He pointed out. “And I’d say a lot of people, peace is probably pretty great if you compare it to some of the alternatives.”  

“Then it’s settled, next time I’ll pick up the bill,” most of the money Damien earned that wasn’t spent on necessities was wasted on alcohol. He didn’t see a reason to save, if his revenge resulted in his demise all of  the belongings he’d obtained would just be put to the curb. There was no one around here to understand the value of his possessions. The idea of dying did not bother Damien the way it should, the way it unnerved most. He’d learned to live with death a long time ago, grappled with it the first time he washed blood from his hands. It had become so commonplace it no longer hung above him like a threat.  

Briefly, Damien thought back on his co-worker, their history on the site, and their claims. “I just don’t trust him,” the truth sounded harsh, but it wasn’t meant as an offense. Damien didn’t trust most people. “Last week he called off and left us short because of a family matter, then I saw him later that night at the bar.” It wasn’t like he had much of a reason to care what the hell the guy did in his free time, but he had to work harder to make up for the absence. Instead of answering the question Damein returned it to Milo, “you’re not?” Since moving to this town Damien had encountered supernatural creatures and events that had fractured his former beliefs. Still, he struggled to accept them until he was forced to. “A lot of things can happen in the shadows, it’s easy to blame a monster.”  

A huff of laughter came as a reply at the suggestive remark, “you might be right. Who doesn’t love a show?” He didn’t chase after the subject too much on the afterlife, instead he gave a wicked grin, “let’s hope we’re a ways from peace then, and the afterlife, for now,” and then took a drink of his beer as if to toast to it.  

Milo grinned, feeling himself steadily falling over the edge of tipsy and into the wonderful world of being drunk. This was what he had been hoping for, a night of pretence. A night of not worrying about the things he knew he should be worrying about. Good company, and some drinks. What more could he possibly ask for? “Hm, could he have been drinking because of the family matter?” He asked. “I know my family has driven me to drink on more than one occasion…” Tapping his fingers against his glass, he made it clear with his demeanour that he wasn’t taking sides. It more than made sense not to trust somebody who took the day off and then spent the night in a bar. But he also kind of understood how that might happen. A frown creasing his brow as he considered the unexpected question, it felt stupid to deny anything.  

Until recently, he had never given the supernatural much thought. But if something had made itself known to him, then what choice would he have but to accept it as truth? Wasn’t that essentially what he was doing right now? “Yeah, I guess I kind of am that way.” He admitted. “But it’s not like I didn’t believe in shit, I just never really thought about it… when stuff shows up it isn’t like you can deny it. Not unless you’re fucking insane...” Maybe he was being a little careless with his remarks, but his tongue had been loosened, and he always had been reckless. “Oh, yeah? What are you blaming the monsters for?” He asked, attempting to inject some humour into his tone. “It’d be nice to have someone to blame for my timekeeping skills, maybe my smoking- Mom used to hate the smell of smoke on my clothes.” 

Feeling a strange sense of satisfaction when he managed to make Damien laugh, he raised his glass. It felt twisted somehow, toasting to the afterlife. Didn’t this technically count as his? Or could he die again? Come back as a ghost or a zombie or some other creature he used to believe only existed in fiction? Using his intoxication to force those questions from his mind, he smiled, catching his company’s eye. “Cheers!” Downing the contents of his glass, something that was so much easier to do now that he didn’t need to breathe, he only set it down when he knew it was empty.  

The idea of his co-worker being unnerved by something at home then finding the bar for comfort received no sympathy from Damien, instead he gave a swift dismissive reply, “fuck if I know, I didn’t ask.” Then the alcohol quickly caused the man to fade from his thoughts as they moved to the next topic. Damien noticed he had to exert more effort to focus on Milo’s response, there was something odd there, “what kind of stuff shows up around you?” He hadn’t really considered what he was asking, didn’t think the answer could be more strange than the creatures he’d encountered lately. Damien’s voice was rough when he answered the inquiry, “everything,” it had been a slip, something released during his drunken haze that he couldn’t catch after it was set free. Damien did consider the werewolves that had killed his family monsters, but that wasn’t a topic he’d divulge in any setting.  

The rest of Damien’s beer is finished with the toast, the wolf moving to stand moments afterwards. It proved to be a hasty mistake. The drinks had finally caught up to him and Damien swayed just slightly, catching himself by snaring fingers into Milo’s shirt till the weight of his body felt more even. “Think that’s enough for me for the night. Better quit while I can still walk,” a loose chuckle left his chest as he released Milo from his grasp. “Come on, you can smoke outside with me, cool air might sober me up some, and I don’t mind if it sticks to your clothes.” A little unsteady, Damien moved his way through the bar, pushing past a patron when necessary till they found their way outside the pub.  

It was pretty clear to Milo that Damien had started drinking long before he arrived at the bar, and as time moved on he began to see the effects of the alcohol. Feeling drunk himself, it was too easy to smile at the offhand comment. So he shook his head as he realised his friend had picked up on his subtleties, regardless of his current state. Maybe his subtleties weren’t so subtle after all. “Nothing-” He hurried to take his words back. “I mean, nothing super weird. Just forget I said anything.” He should probably make more of an effort not to draw attention to the changes in his life. But it was so difficult when they were all consuming. Damien was one of the first people he had been able to talk to, and he needed that more than he wanted to admit.  

Everything. He had been too distracted by his own thoughts to notice any shift in Damien’s expression, but there was something about the way the word was spoken that told him this wasn’t something he could joke about. He couldn’t turn this comment into something funny, or lighthearted. The tone carried so many emotions he couldn’t place, and it left him wondering, with a burning curiosity, just what had happened for him to sound so hurt. “Everything, huh? Shit…” Not expecting him to sway as he stood, the hand on his chest was something he hadn’t been ready for. Holding his breath, it took everything he had to stay where he was. To not react.  

Waiting until Damien was upright, and no longer gripping his shirt, he nodded in response, too shaken by the sudden proximity to say very much. “Yeah…” He muttered quietly. “Yeah, okay. We can go outside.” Pulling a carton of cigarettes from his hoodie, he placed one between his lips. It was a distraction from what he was really craving. Maybe if he focused on smoking, he could ignore the growing need for something far more sinister. Standing up too, he offered Damien a smile at the comment, holding the carton out so that he could take a smoke too. “Good to know.” He attempted to tease, but his voice was strained as he attempted to prepare himself for the short journey. Holding his breath again as they were forced to brush past patrons, his knuckles turned white as he balled his hands into fists. It didn’t take them long to reach the door, but it may as well have been an eternity. 

It was strange, how defensive his company became over the question. It was far more suspicious that he hurriedly warded off any more attention on the subject. “You’ll have to be a better liar about that,” Damien advised, it might have amused him sober, that Milo tried to hide a potentially dangerous topic. If he knew Damien better, he’d know that any risky or threatening subject only drew in his attention more. They were fortunate however, that in his drunken haze any thoughts that begged to chase after the response slid away from his mind.  

Damien was forced to realize soon after he stood that he had not been so careful with his own speech, not that he typically was. The single word had snared Milo’s attention but Damien did not provide a response to his inquiry. He didn’t think someone who had been dodging hard questions would want to hear about the dark chapters of his life, which suited him fine, he didn’t want to read those aloud anyway. Damien accepted the cigarette offered to him and moved on. 

As the pair exited the pub to be introduced to the sidewalk Damien freed a lighter from his pocket. He flicked the switch till a little flame danced up, bringing it to the end of his own cigarette before igniting Milo’s. As the light was brought close to his company’s face he could see stress lingering on his features but didn’t comment on it, instead he took a long drag of his cigarette and let his feet start to carry him down the sidewalk on the path back to his apartment. 

“Fuck you, I’m not lying.” Milo insisted, his tone friendly even as he caught himself scowling. He didn’t enjoy being easily read, though sometimes it felt entirely unavoidable. Lucky for him, he knew his company wasn’t one to push for answers. They seemed to dance around certain topics which he was more than happy to do, even if it did leave him curious. So long as Damien didn’t make any attempt to pry, he would offer the same level of courtesy. Taking a grateful breath of fresh air as they escaped the stifling environment of the bar, it wasn’t long before his cigarette was being lit for him, and he smiled, genuinely grateful. It was a relief, he could feel his anxiety loosen it grip on his chest, albeit only a little.  

Smoking had been a strange habit to continue after his death. Although his body still called out for Nicotine, the specific act of inhaling and exhaling was something he was forced to relearn, to really focus on. Letting out a slow, deliberate hiss of air, he watched smoke curl above him, stark against the night sky. Paying no attention to where they were going, when Damien didn’t stop he assumed he had a destination in mind. He was very much over fearing for his safety, not that he ever had in life. Which meant it was easier to simply follow. Falling into step beside him, he hummed quietly to himself. He had so many questions he wanted to ask, but frustratingly felt as though he couldn’t. “So…” He murmured, breaking the silence. “You’ve been in White Crest your whole life?”  

The cold had not in fact sobered him up. Damien felt his world tilt just a little before it righted itself and his thoughts swam in and out of his focus as smoke twisted between his fingers and uncurled from his lips. He was aware of Milo beside him, that as the pair progressed down the streets towards his apartment that they were more alone. It was a dangerous thing, keeping his company, but Milo seemed to follow regardless.  

“No, no,” he began in answer when Damien caught the question, “I moved here from New York a few months ago. I thought I’d be gone by now, but, here we are.” That was a little too much honesty, as he turned to look at Milo, more seemed to slip out. “You know, you remind me a little of someone I used to know. He could hold his own at a bar too but he was a little more…” Damien struggled then, because the man in reference meant more than a few sentences could summarize. And he was dead. Instead of continuing, Damien took another drag of his cigarette and let the subject slip past him as he continued, “Different, I guess. Anyway, what about you? Have you always had roots here or did you come from somewhere else?”  

“Oh, shit.” Milo couldn’t hide his surprise upon hearing Damien was originally from New York. He had never been the type to dream, more than content to live in the present, to lose himself in his pills, and his alcohol. But cities had always interested him. He couldn’t deny the faint draw he felt when he considered what it might be like to live in one. “New York? How the hell did you end up in this shithole?” He couldn’t imagine having the opportunity to live in New York, only to settle for somewhere like White Crest. The town had its merits, but it was still just a town. Sleepy, and dull, despite the vampires apparently lurking in the shadows. A frown creasing his brow, he took a long drag of smoke before looking back up at his company. He could only assume the familiarity wasn’t a compliment. 

“I do?” He asked, absentmindedly tapping ash. “You know a lot of screw ups then?” Maybe it was an unfair comment to make, but also a reflection of his self esteem. There were very few people he allowed to see this particular side of himself, but it was late, he was drunk, and he trusted Damien. “Oh, yeah? Different how?” He was curious to know, he couldn’t stop the question from escaping his lips. Following it up with a shrug, he was almost embarrassed to admit he was from such a stifling place. “Born, and raised…” And died. He added silently. “My parents are from here... and their parents. And I assume their parents. S’not like it makes much of a difference. I got stuck here, same as everyone else.”  

Damien’s attention is snared in his drunken haze when his company reacts to his hometown. He had lived in New York all his life, when you set up roots there you don’t think about the appeal of the skyline, you just think about what places you tended to grow more. It was only after Damien was forced to make the decision to leave the city that he had to recognize everything he’d loved about it and the loss that came with moving. “Oh, well,” what reason had he been telling people? In his state, he couldn’t remember. “I had family there...’ no, his chest ached at the memory, his mind dragging him away from the train of thought. He didn’t want to talk about that. Anything but that. He pulled himself together as best he could and tried to muddle down the slip in honesty. “Started heading over here to get a change of scenery. Then the car broke down.” It was a shitty lie.  

A sigh eluded him as his thoughts were brought back to the person in his past. It had been a long time since he had left himself think of Tristan. “Yeah I guess he was a bit of a screw up, I seem to be drawn to them,” a small smile cracked his lips before he took another drag of his cigarette. The difference with Tristan was that he got close. He knew who Damien was, learned what he was capable of, and stuck around anyway. But he was too close, to his gang, his heart. He ruined him. Someone aware of the fallout might assure Damien that he’d done all he could but he would have refused this little self-help tip. The fact of the matter was that Tristan would have never gotten involved in drugs if Damien’s lifestyle hadn’t introduced it to him. The cold truth of it was more sobering that any gust of air and Damien just shrugged. He couldn’t confess what the man meant to him, admit just how different he was.  

It was easier to turn his attention to Milo, “you don’t want to be stuck here anymore?” The cigarette in his hand was burning low, he took one last pull from it before extinguishing it on a building they passed.  

“Hm,” Milo hummed quietly in response. “I know what it’s like... leaving family behind. It used to be through choice…” He scuffed his shoes as he walked, scowling at the ground. “Now, not so much.” It was strange to consider how many times he had tried to actively remove his parents from his life. It was difficult to do when you lived in such a small town, and one way or another, he always managed to get dragged back into their bullshit. But this time? This time there was no getting dragged back. This time it had to be final, he wasn’t sure he was quite ready to face that truth just yet. “Wait- your car broke down and you just decided fuck it, I guess I live here now?” He made no effort to hide his disbelief, even if had wanted to he knew his current state of inebriation would make doing so impossible. Laughing quietly when Damien told him he was drawn to screw ups, he caught his eye, grateful for the lighthearted teasing. “No shit.” He teased right back, unable to help himself. “If you ask my dad I’m about as useless as they come, so I guess you got lucky.” 

Following his friend’s lead, he took one final drag from his own cigarette before dropping it too. Usually he found a degree of satisfaction in grinding it beneath his shoe, watching the cherry burn out as he carefully destroyed the filter. But he was feeling lazy, so he left it, red and hot against the asphalt. “It’s not something I ever really thought about.” He admitted. “But, I don’t know… shit got weird, and I-” He swallowed, chewing on his bottom lip for a moment as he grappled with his emotions. It was difficult to say the words out loud, part of him didn’t even know why he wanted to. “I guess I don’t really know who I am anymore…” He said finally, the admission tumbling from his lips. “The idea of a world beyond this town is- well, it’s fucking terrifying.” 

There was something peculiar, in the remorseful way Milo regarded what choice, or lack thereof, he had relating to his family. It caught Damien’s attention but he couldn’t articulate what about the strangeness of the subject he wanted to question. Had the guy been kicked out? That might explain why he confessed before his week had been a mess. Or was it something else? Too many factors spun in Damien’s thoughts and it made him feel light headed trying to chase one or the other so he didn’t. Even if he wanted to invest some effort into it, Milo called him out on his lie and he had to think of a better way to justify it. “Had to get some money to fix the car,” that was also a lie, but he didn’t think it mattered “Got the job to get the money. Car’s fixed now, but other bills followed. Been trying to catch up ever since.”  

The self-deprecating way Milo referred to himself had started to wear Damien down. He did not enjoy seeing his companion reduce himself to something low. Damien had spent most of his life around other low-life criminals, even joining them; they had savored the chaos in their life and shook free of restraints. He couldn’t understand why Milo would allow for himself to carry such burdensome titles like useless. It didn’t seem like he had a right to ask.  

Damien listened as intently as he could to Milo admission. He didn’t think they were just talking about moving anymore. “If you don’t know who you are...then the next step is to decide who you want to be.” He stopped, they finally arrived at Damien’s apartment. It was an old manufacturing building renovated for housing, rift with safety hazardous but it had become his new home in this town. “This is where I get off,” he turned to Milo, offering a small smile, “I’d invite you up, but it is a terrifying world in there. I haven’t done my dishes in a week.” He let the humor sit for a moment before adding, “you can go wherever you want. A few blocks, a few states. Just depends what you’re looking for.” 

Milo watched Damien curiously, an element of scepticism clear on his face. It didn’t sound remotely plausible, and if he could, he would put money on the story not being true. Then again, he wasn’t exactly being honest himself. He wanted to push for more, but it went against his nature. Part of him liked to think if he didn’t question people, then they wouldn’t question him. For the most part, the logic had proven fair. “Small towns have a way of never letting you go.” He murmured. “For what it’s worth, I’m kind of glad you got stuck… who else am I supposed to drown my sorrows with?” After everything he had suffered recently, moments like these felt incredibly rare. He was genuinely glad he had crossed paths with Damien, genuinely glad he was getting to spend more time with him.  

Coming to a halt as he could only assume they finally  reached his friend’s apartment, he leaned against a nearby wall. How many ridiculous instagram posts had he seen? Posts about becoming who you truly are, and discovering who you were always meant to be... As far as he was concerned they were for young parents who were bored out of their minds, or teenagers stuck in retail jobs, dreaming about becoming rich and famous. He had never asked himself those questions before, because they didn’t feel like important questions. Why would he ever need to think about who Milo Summers was? Who even cared about the answer? “That sounds like a lot of work.” He admitted, laughing sheepishly. “I’m not entirely sure I’m up for it.” Offering Damien a smile in return, he hadn’t been expecting an invitation. It was too easy to go home with a stranger, but they knew each other now. Besides, he knew better than to trust himself alone with anyone, given his current state. The days of being careless were unfortunately behind him. “You know, I don’t think it’s ever going to be that simple… not for me.” He admitted. “But I appreciate your optimism.”  

Damien’s back fell against the brick exterior for support as he dug through his pocket for the keys to the place. There was something decidedly sad about the way Milo relayed he was happy Damien stuck around, the added pinch of humor didn’t sugarcoat it. There was a sinking feeling from the statement that caused him to sway from the weight of it and fumble retrieving the keys. He did not know how to manage someone being glad he was here, he especially didn’t know how to respond to it drunk. He admittedly didn’t like the idea of someone getting close enough to appreciate anything about his existence, it meant they were close enough to see how fucked up his life had been. No one needed to see that.