The unspoken weight

Damian sat on the edge of Alex's couch, fingers gripping the worn fabric, staring at the coffee table in front of him. The TV was on, but the sound was muted, a background hum to the silence that was wrapping itself around them.

It wasn't like they hadn't spent time together before—hell, they'd spent hours just hanging out, talking about anything and everything, both of them effortlessly slipping into that space where everything felt natural. But this was different.

There was something that hung in the air now, an unspoken weight that neither of them seemed to want to acknowledge, but it was there. It was always there, heavy, thick, pressing in around them.

Alex was in the kitchen again, making something—probably eggs, or maybe toast, but Damian couldn't bring himself to care. His mind kept drifting back to last night, the way things had felt too right, the way Alex had pulled away just enough to give him space but still kept close, enough to make Damian question every damn thing in his head.

Damian wasn't used to feeling like this. He wasn't used to someone giving him space and then filling it up so completely with everything that wasn't being said. It made his skin itch. It made him second-guess every damn thought.

A few minutes later, Alex returned, two plates in hand, offering one to Damian. "Breakfast," he said with a half-smile.

Damian took it, still not sure if he wanted to eat. "Thanks."

They sat in silence for a few beats, each of them picking at their food, but the quiet between them was different now. It wasn't the comfortable, easy silence they'd shared in the past. It felt like a space that had been hollowed out, leaving room for all the things they weren't saying.

Finally, Alex broke it, his voice soft but steady. "You still thinking about it?"

Damian paused, his fork halfway to his mouth, before slowly setting it down. He looked up at Alex, meeting his gaze for the first time since he'd walked into the apartment that morning.

"About last night?"

Alex nodded, not pushing, just waiting.

Damian exhaled slowly, leaning back against the couch, rubbing a hand over his face. "I don't even know what to think about it."

"Yeah." Alex's response was quiet, but there was an understanding in it. "Me neither."

It wasn't the answer Damian had been expecting, but somehow, it was the one he needed. He wanted something definitive, something that made all the confusion go away. But Alex was right. They didn't have to have it figured out yet.

Still, it didn't make it any easier.

Damian felt the tension in his shoulders, the weight of not knowing hanging around him like an extra layer of skin. He wanted to push it away, wanted to pretend like everything was fine, like it didn't matter, like this was just another night between two friends. But it was more than that now.

"What if we screw this up?" Damian asked, his voice almost a whisper.

Alex didn't hesitate. "Then we figure it out."

Damian raised an eyebrow. "Just like that?"

Alex shrugged, a small smirk playing at the corner of his lips. "What else is there to do?"

Damian's chest tightened, but this time, he didn't look away. He just let the words sit there, hanging between them, knowing that Alex wasn't going anywhere. That he was right there, in this uncomfortable space, not rushing, not demanding answers.

It was the most real thing Damian had ever felt.

And that, more than anything, scared the hell out of him.

For a long time, the room was silent, save for the clinking of silverware as they both finished their food. Damian's mind spun, trying to make sense of everything that had happened, trying to figure out if this was something they could navigate. The thing with Alex was... it was too easy. Too natural in a way that made Damian's stomach churn with both fear and something else—something he didn't want to name just yet.

Alex put his plate down, and the weight of his gaze settled over Damian again. He wasn't saying anything, wasn't pushing, just waiting. It was almost like he was giving Damian the space to breathe, to come to terms with everything without adding pressure.

The thing was, Damian wasn't used to this—he wasn't used to being allowed to figure it out at his own pace. There was always urgency in his life. With his father, with his friends, with everything he'd ever been a part of. But with Alex? There was no rush. No frantic need to get to the end.

And that felt like both a blessing and a curse.

"You know," Alex said after a beat, his voice softer than it had been all morning, "I'm not in any hurry. We'll figure this out, whatever this is."

Damian couldn't help but laugh dryly. "That's easy for you to say. You're not the one who feels like they're losing control."

Alex leaned back, raising an eyebrow. "You feel like you're losing control?"

Damian was quiet for a second. "Yeah. I do."

Alex's eyes softened, and for a moment, Damian could have sworn he saw something more in them than just the usual amusement. It was… understanding. Compassion, maybe. It wasn't something Alex often wore on his face, and it made Damian feel both seen and exposed at the same time.

"You don't have to have all the answers right now," Alex said gently. "We don't need to know exactly what we're doing. We can just... be."

That was the thing. Being with Alex, it was never about needing all the answers. It wasn't about figuring everything out or getting it right. It was just about existing in this shared space, feeling the moments, and letting them shape themselves without trying to force anything.

And that realization hit Damian harder than anything. Because maybe he didn't need to have control. Maybe, for once, it was okay to just let go and see where things led.

For now, at least.

Damian took a deep breath, and when he looked at Alex again, he wasn't sure what he was looking for, but something in Alex's eyes told him that whatever happened next, he wasn't going to be alone in it.

The unspoken weight between them didn't vanish, but in that moment, it felt lighter. Less heavy. Maybe that was all they could ask for right now.

And maybe that was enough.