After Hours: Damian, a Guest in the Room
Damian had never let anyone into his room before. Letting Elliot in felt like breaking a rule he’d made just for himself.
They go upstairs after lunch. No rush. No excuse. Just the quiet agreement that it’s time.
Damian walks a step ahead, hands buried in the pockets of his shorts, shoulders slightly hunched. Elliot notices. He always does. The way Damian slows down at the top of the stairs, the half-second pause before opening the door.
It’s stupid, really. But it’s the first time. Damian’s room.
He opens it and steps aside, letting Elliot in.
Elliot looks around immediately, curious in that effortless way of his. The room smells faintly of fabric softener and something familiar. Damian.
Damian closes the door behind them, heart beating faster than he’d like to admit.
He’s already changed into his tank top and pink shorts, the ones he only wears at home. Elliot doesn’t say anything at first. Instead, he bends down, kicks off his shoes, then his shorts, leaving them in a careless pile on the floor like they don’t matter. He straightens up in his underwear and T-shirt, glancing around again.
“Oh.”
There it is. A black hoodie lies on the floor, clearly forgotten there.
Before Damian can react, Elliot grabs it and pulls it on.
“Hey—!” Damian blurts out. “That was for laundry.”
Elliot shrugs, sleeves dangling past his hands.
“I don’t care.”
He sniffs it lightly, then smiles.
“It doesn’t smell bad. Smells like you.”
Damian freezes.
“…You’re unbelievable.”
Elliot grins and hops onto the bed, hoodie riding up as he lands. That’s when he really notices.
Plushies. Everywhere. Cute ones. Soft ones. A few clearly older, a little worn from being hugged too much.
Elliot’s eyes widen.
“…No way.”
Damian’s chest tightens.
“They’re not— I mean—”
“They’re cute,” Elliot says immediately, squeezing one without hesitation. “You have a lot.”
Damian looks away, face heating up.
“I don’t let anyone in here,” he mutters. “You’re the first.”
Elliot pauses. Then his smile softens.
“That’s kinda special.”
Before Damian can respond, Elliot’s attention shifts again.
The headphones. Resting on the bed, right where Damian left them.
“Oh,” Elliot says. “These yours?”
“Don’t—”
Too late.
Elliot slips them on, hair getting caught for a second. Damian reacts on instinct, lunging forward to pull them off.
“Elliot— wait!”
They end up tangled together on the bed, knees knocking, plushies squished between them. Elliot laughs, holding the headphones in place as Damian struggles half-heartedly.
The music starts. Not loud. Not heavy.
Something upbeat. Soft. Almost embarrassingly sweet.
Elliot blinks.
“…Wow.”
Damian groans. “Give them back.”
Elliot doesn’t.
He tilts his head, listening.
“Damn,” he says. “You always look so tough. I really thought you only listened to rock and hardcore stuff.”
“I do,” Damian mutters.
“But you also listen to this,” Elliot adds, smiling. “Didn’t expect that.”
Damian’s grip loosens.
“…It’s just songs,” he says quietly.
Elliot looks at him.
“They’re nice,” he says. “Kinda suit you.”
For a moment, Damian hesitates.
Then he lets go.
“Fine,” he says. “Just… don’t tell anyone.”
Elliot settles back into the plushies, hoodie bunching around him, music filling the small space between them.
Damian lies down beside him, staring at the ceiling, heart still racing.