Chapter 63: long before this world
And Damien smiled.
Then stepped back into the dark.
Gone.
But not gone.
Elliot’s hands curled into fists in his lap.
His breath came shallow.
His pulse hammered not with fear.
With dread.
This wasn’t over.
It had never ended.
It had only paused.
Aiden noticed. "Cass- Elliot?" His voice softened. "You okay?"
Elliot forced a smile. "Yeah. Just... tired."
But inside, the truth screamed:
He’s here.
He’s watching.
And he’s letting me be happy... so he can take it all away.
Leonel followed his gaze toward the empty window.
He didn’t see Damien.
But he saw Elliot.
The tension in his jaw.
The tremor in his fingers.
The way his eyes stayed locked on that spot like it held a ghost.
Leonel didn’t ask.
He just shifted closer.
Placed his hand over Elliot’s clenched fist.
Warm. Solid.
Aiden did the s sliding his arm around Elliot’s other hand, pulling him gently into his side.
They didn’t speak.
They didn’t say "It’s okay."
They didn’t say "He’s gone."
Because they didn’t know that.
Instead, Aiden whispered:
"We’re right here. No matter what happens."
And Leonel added, voice rough:
"If he comes near you again... we won’t wait. We’ll end it."
Elliot closed his eyes.
He wanted to believe them.
He did believe them.
But the happiness he’d felt the lightness, the laughter, the warmth of being loved now felt like a trap.
Because joy had always been bait.
And now, for the first time, he understood:
Damien wasn’t just coming back.
He was letting Elliot believe in peace...
so its destruction would break him forever.
He leaned into Aiden.
held his and leonel’s hand tightly, heart beating
And whispered only to himself
"I won’t let him win."
But deep down, he knew
That its something he cant even think about like winning from him? he sighed
It had just entered a new phase.
And this time
Damien wasn’t just attacking his body.
Or his name.
Or his past.
He was attacking his hope
.
And that...
was the most dangerous weapon of all.
<<Damien’s POV>> ((Lucian POV))
He didn’t watch Elliot.
He breathed him.
From the second-floor window of Wing B new transfer housing, empty room, paid for in cash he stood in the shadows, perfectly still, like a statue carved from longing.
Below, Elliot walked.
Not quickly. Not nervously.
Freely.
That word alone made Damien’s throat tighten.
Elliot’s hand brushed Aiden’s forearm as they laughed about something unseen. Leonel stood a half-step behind, watchful, protective a silent vow in human form.
Damien’s fingers tapped once against the cold glass.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
The rhythm of three years spent waiting outside Elliot’s bedroom door.
Elliot’s head lifted just slightly as if he felt the weight of Damien’s gaze.
And then slowly he looked up.
Their eyes met.
Not by accident.
Not by chance.
By recognition.
Elliot went still.
Damien didn’t move.
But he smiled.
And with deliberate, almost theatrical grace, he lifted his right hand. Pressed two fingers to his lips the same lips that had whispered "bunny" against Elliot’s neck a hundred times.
Then pointed.
At him.
A promise.
A claim.
A reminder
You are mine.
Elliot’s face drained of color. His breath hitched. Damien saw it even from three stories up. His fingers curled into fists at his sides, but he didn’t run. Didn’t look away.
He just stood.
And for the first time in months, Damien felt it:
He remembers.
Not just the pain.
Not just the chains.
But the love.
The twisted, suffocating, all-consuming love that had bound them long before this world.
Damien’s chest swelled.
Then slowly he stepped back.
Into the dark.
Not to hide.
But to let the memory linger.
Let the fear take root.
Let Elliot carry that image with him all day:
Damien is here.
Damien is watching.
Damien never left.
The stairwell was cold.
Dusty.
Silent.
Damien climbed without hurry, his boots echoing like a heartbeat against the metal steps.
He’d chosen this rooftop for a reason.
It overlooked the courtyard Elliot’s path to class, to the library, to them.
But more than that it was where Elliot had stood a week ago, arms wrapped around himself, whispering into the night like a prayer.
Damien had watched from below.
He’d seen him being vulnerable and scared.
He’d heard the broken whisper "I’m still me."
And it had made him ache.
Because Elliot wasn’t "still him."
He was Damien’s.
And Damien had crossed worlds to reclaim him.
He reached the roof.
Pushed the door open.
Wind rushed to greet him cool, sharp, alive.
He walked to the edge.
Not to jump.
Not to threaten.
To claim.
He closed his eyes.
Felt the wind on his face just like the past life at the night he’d first pinned Elliot against the fridge, whispering, "You’ll never belong to anyone but me."
That night, Elliot had trembled.
Tonight, he laughed.
And Damien?
He wasn’t angry.
He was proud
.
Because he’d built this.
Every scar.
Every flinch.
Every time Elliot closed his eyes and saw Damien’s face instead of the sky.
He was the foundation of Elliot’s soul.
And now?
Now Elliot was building a new life on top of it.
Without permission.
Damien smiled.
Then tilted his head back.
Closed his eyes.
And spoke not to the sky, not to the wind, but to someone who was standing close with no presence
"That’s enough," he whispered. "Come out."
A breath. A shift in the air.
Not real. Not imagined.
Present.
The voice answered low, familiar, woven into his bones:
"...I’ve been here."
Damien’s smile widened.
"I know."
He looks at this mystery guy with a smirk. Well, you’ve been watching for too long; should you be helping me by now
The other guy stared at him. "What will I even gain?"
hmm maybe a nice damn view of Elliot’s broken soul, which you must have not seen yet
the other guy was silent for a whole minute and laughed oh my god i can’t believe you said that. You were supposed to be very kind in this story but you - he continued laughing