Don't touch me!

About an hour after returning home, Alex's stomach gave a telling grumble. He hadn't realized how hungry he was until the quiet of the room made it impossible to ignore. During his stay at the clinic, Dr. Addison had made sure he received three balanced and nourishing meals each day—delivered from a specialty takeout service that catered to recovering patients and expectant mothers. The meals had been surprisingly flavorful and thoughtfully portioned, managing to satisfy both his nutritional needs and his love for good food.

As a lifelong food enthusiast and a fairly talented cook himself, Alex had been genuinely impressed. Now, as the craving resurfaced, he found himself yearning for one of those comforting, expertly prepared meals. He reached for his phone, ready to place an order, when a sudden knock echoed through the room.

Frowning slightly, Alex got up and opened the door.

"I brought you something to eat," Damien said, extending a paper bag filled with takeout.

Alex blinked, momentarily stunned. The logo on the bag was unmistakable—it was from the very place he had been about to call.

"Thanks," he muttered, taking the bag and shutting the door with more force than necessary.

He figured Damien must've learned about the food service from the clinic. Though they hadn't crossed paths during his three-day stay, Alex knew Damien had dropped off some essentials—fresh clothes, toiletries, even a book he never asked for. It had been unexpected. Almost... considerate. 

Maybe Damien was just feeling guilty. After all, he had marked him and inadvertently caused the medical episode that landed Alex in the clinic in the first place.

Still, the food smelled divine. Alex ate in silence, each bite easing something tight inside his chest. Afterwards, exhaustion rolled over him like a heavy blanket. Unlike before, there was no nausea or dizziness, but the bone-deep fatigue was undeniable. Dr. Addison had explained it was normal—his body was healing, adjusting, and on top of that, the pregnancy was draining his energy. Apparently, needing a lot of sleep was part of the package.

The next morning, another knock interrupted his groggy thoughts. When he opened the door, he found a familiar takeout bag hanging from the doorknob. Lunchtime came with the same silent delivery. But when evening rolled around, there was a shift.

This time, Damien showed up in person.

"Let's go out for dinner," he said. "You've been cooped up too long. Some fresh air might do you good."

Alex crossed his arms, narrowing his eyes. "What's the angle? Planning to whisk me off to a hotel afterward? I told you—"

"It's just dinner," Damien interrupted, his tone low and guarded. "I swear."

Alex studied him for a moment, then sighed. "Fine. Give me ten minutes to shower and get dressed."

Fifteen minutes later, they were already in the car.

"So," Damien said, glancing over as he pulled into traffic. "What are you in the mood for?"

Alex blinked. That was... unexpected. Damien was asking him what he wanted, rather than dragging him along like he usually did.

"Pasta," Alex said after a beat. "I've been thinking about carbonara all day."

"Pasta it is," Damien replied without hesitation.

When they pulled up in front of a cozy, elegant Italian restaurant, Alex's eyebrows rose.

"You made a reservation?"

Damien nodded. "Yeah. Actually, I made a few. Different places, just in case."

Alex stared at him, a little caught off guard. "And how, exactly, did you know I'd be craving pasta?"

"I didn't," Damien admitted, looking away. "I just guessed what you might like."

Had this been the Damien of a few weeks ago, Alex might've been charmed. But now, the gesture made him wary.

"Old me would've found that impressive," he said, picking up his glass of water. "But knowing what I know now—how everything you did before had a motive—it's hard not to wonder what your angle is this time."

"There isn't one," Damien said quietly. "It's just dinner. That's all."

Alex gave a skeptical scoff but didn't argue.

When the food arrived, the warm, rich scent hit him hard. He practically inhaled the first few bites, not realizing how ravenous he actually was. From the corner of his eye, he caught Damien watching him, a small smile tugging at his lips.

"What's with the smile?" Alex asked, irritation flaring.

"I'm just glad to see you eat so well," Damien replied. There was no teasing in his voice, only quiet sincerity.

Alex looked away, annoyed. "Whatever…"

This version of Damien—soft-spoken, thoughtful, patient—was both painfully familiar and unfamiliar. And unsettling. Did he really think a few nice meals and polite words could undo everything? That trust, once broken, could be restored so easily?

After they finished their meal, they went for a walk. The night air wrapped around them like a thin, biting mist. The city streets glimmered beneath amber lamplight, a quiet hum of distant traffic and footsteps serving as the evening's soft soundtrack. They walked in silence, the tension between them as palpable as the cold.

Despite the sweater and jacket Alex wore, a chill slithered beneath the fabric, raising goosebumps along his arms. He shivered, subtly at first, but enough for Damien to notice. Wordlessly, Damien slipped off his own coat and gently draped it over Alex's shoulders, his movements careful, reverent almost—like approaching a wounded animal.

Alex froze, staring at him in disbelief, his fingers clutching the edges of the coat as if unsure whether to shrug it off or bury himself in it.

"You doing this…" Alex began, his voice sharp and brittle, "it just reminds me of when you were trying so hard to seduce me. Not because you cared, but because you wanted revenge."

His words were a blade, and he didn't miss the way Damien flinched—just barely, but enough. A shadow of remorse flickered across his face before he lowered his gaze.

"Alex," Damien said quietly, "I know that nothing I say could ever truly excuse what I did. I can't erase the past, or expect you to forget any of it. But I do regret it. Deeply. I was foolish…and reckless. I'm not asking for forgiveness. I just— I want to at least try to fix some of the harm I caused."

"The harm you caused?" Alex scoffed, bitter laughter bubbling in his throat. "Damien, you didn't just cause harm. You shattered me. You broke something inside me I'm not sure will ever heal."

His voice wavered, but the fire in his eyes did not.

"You were the first person I ever truly loved. The only one. Meeting you felt like... like fate had finally decided to give me something good after all the terrible shit it had put me through. You were a miracle. A blessing. And then you turned into a nightmare I couldn't wake up from."

"Alex—"

"No. Let me finish," he snapped, voice shaking. "It wasn't enough that you told me you never cared—that I was just a tool in some twisted revenge. You kept using me even after that. You coerced me into having sex with you. I was already falling apart, and you just kept pressing down like you wanted to see how far I'd break."

His breathing grew uneven, eyes glistening as he continued, the words spilling out in a rush.

"Do you know what it felt like, walking away from you that night? With your bite still bleeding on my neck, dripping with semen and with clothes stuck to my skin? I didn't feel like a person. I felt like something discarded, torn apart. And when the fever came… when I was alone and sick and half-conscious... I remember thinking, maybe if I fall asleep, I won't have to wake up again. That maybe it would be easier if I just disappeared."

Damien's face was pale under the streetlights, his expression stricken.

"I could never look at you the same way again," Alex said hoarsely. "Not after knowing the truth. The best you can hope for now is that I tolerate your presence."

He shrugged off Damien's coat and held it out stiffly. "I'm going home. Alone. I can't even stand to look at you right now."

"Alex, please—"

"Don't." Alex jerked away as Damien reached out, his voice rising with sudden fury. "Don't touch me. Don't you ever fucking touch me again. And don't follow me."

He didn't wait for a response. He turned and rushed away—not toward any particular destination, but just as far as he could. Away from Damien, from the suffocating memories, from the ache in his chest that refused to dull. He didn't care how Damien looked standing there—hollow-eyed, remorse etched into every line of his face. He didn't care that the man looked like he was unraveling from guilt. He had no space left in his heart to care.

Hot, bitter tears spilled down Alex's cheeks as he rushed through the night, the city lights bleeding into each other, a blur of gold and silver and grief. His breath hitched in his throat, and for a moment, all he could hear was the sound of his own heart breaking all over again.