He put his arms around his mom and pulled her into a tight, comforting hug. As she let out her pain, he gently rubbed her back and felt her shudder against him.
He felt something deep inside when she showed weakness. It brought back memories he had tried to forget.
He knew exactly how that made him feel, it was the same agonizing frustration he had felt as a child when he couldn't protect his mother from his cruel father.
He was determined to get better and make sure he would never be helpless again because of the scars from those times.
When he saw that his mother was feeling the same way, he felt a strong need to protect her. He hugged her tighter, as if he could take away her pain and make her strong again. "You're not alone, Mom," he whispered softly. "You're everything to me, and we're in this together."
They stood in silence, sharing the burdens they both carried, bound by a shared resilience that had brought them this far.
"And Mom," Damon said softly, his voice steady but filled with resolve. "You don't have to do anything. Let me handle this."
Aoife started to protest, "But–"
Damon interrupted her gently but firmly, something he rarely, if ever did. "No 'but,' Mom," he insisted, his tone unwavering. "You can't keep stressing yourself over this. I'm here now, and I want to help. Just let me take care of you, the way you've always taken care of me."
Aoife looked at him, emotions swirling in her eyes, a mix of pride, relief, and the lingering guilt of feeling like a burden.
She felt better when she saw Damon's steady look. For the first time, she could feel the weight of her worries lift as she realized that her son really did want to be there for her.
And it was time to let him be the protector.
Aoife let out a soft sigh, and her shoulders relaxed as she looked up at Damon with a blend of thanks and sensitivity in her eyes. "Thank you," she said in a whisper, her voice barely able to hide the feeling that was still there.
Damon pulled her closer and gave her a comforting hug that seemed to say everything he couldn't say. He said in a soft, steady voice, "No need to thank you, Mom." She felt calmer in his arms, like the stress was leaving her body.
After a moment, she gently broke the hug, wiping her face with trembling fingers, a faint, embarrassed chuckle escaping her lips. "I'm sorry you had to see me ," she said, her voice fragile but trying to regain some strength.
Damon smiled softly, his gaze calm and reassuring. "There's nothing to be ashamed of, Mom," he replied, his tone gentle yet firm. "But you should go get some rest." His eyes held hers for a moment, a silent promise that he'd be there, always.
She managed a weary smile, her eyes still glossy but full of warmth. With a final grateful nod, she turned and slowly made her way to her room.
Damon watched her leave with a sad heart but a strong will. He knew more than ever what he had to do to help her, just like she had always helped him.
Damon plopped down on the sofa with a heavy sigh, letting himself sink into the cushions.
And a feeling of calm came over him. That's one less thing his mom would have to do to get a job or work herself sick trying to support them.
That was his job now.
After a moment, he stood up, heading to the kitchen.
The counters were clear, and there was no scent of food in the air, nothing had been prepared for dinner.
He realized she must've been too preoccupied with everything on her mind.
I'll take care of it, he decided, rolling up his sleeves. Tonight, he'd make sure she had a hot meal ready, something simple but comforting.
Over the past few years, Damon had picked up a fair amount of cooking skills.
After all, it was a basic survival skill, something everyone needed to know, especially in the unpredictable life he led.
He moved around the kitchen with ease, getting things ready and gathering the fixings.
He wasn't going to call himself a cook, but he was good enough to make a good meal.
As he worked, he chopped, stirred, and tasted. He got into a routine that was almost soothing after a busy day.
The warm smell of spices and food cooking filled the kitchen, and Damon couldn't help but feel a little proud.
Even though he hadn't been cooking for years, he could at least make his mom something warm and comforting tonight.
Damon dished out the food, carefully plating it before heading down the hallway to his mother's room.
Balancing the plate in one hand, he knocked gently on her door, but there was no response.
He poked his head in, and a faint smile crept onto his face as he heard the soft rhythm of her snores.
Quietly, he stepped back, switching off the light and softly closing the door behind him. He returned to the kitchen, wrapping up the food and putting it in the fridge for tomorrow.
Satisfied, he tidied up the kitchen and let out a tired sigh. The day had been long, but as he turned off the lights, he felt a quiet sense of accomplishment.
He carried his plate into the living room, setting it on the table before reaching into his bag for his training gear.
After rummaging through, his fingers brushed against the small, hard flash drive Victor had given him. Pulling it out, he looked at it for a moment and smiled.
"Time to see what this is all about," he muttered to himself, a spark of anticipation in his eyes.
Settling onto the couch, he plugged in the drive and queued up the footage. As the screen lit up with Cellan Gustalam's fights, Damon picked up his fork, ready to eat while he studied his next opponent.
For now, Damon set aside thoughts of the Simulation. His focus remained locked on the screen, taking in every detail of Cellan Gustalam's fighting style.