Real-ish

Homecoming

I walk quickly to my room and close the door softly. Then I promptly throw myself on my bed with an aggravated groaning into my pillow.

I roll over to turn on the CD player that sits beside my bed. It's a little old school, and Betty Boop has said as much, but I find it comforting. The music isn't loud, but I've listened to this CD so many times I would be able to hear the notes if it wasn't playing.

A small tap at my window makes me jump. I scramble up to see Damian hanging off of my window frame and I quickly open the glass screen. He climbs inside nimbly. I'm thankful for my lack of neighbors.

"Hi? I thought you were gonna hide with, um. I thought you would hide in your room?" I ask quietly, the music covering my voice when I turn it up a few notches.

"I was, but I thought it would be best to stay in here for the time being. Drake and Todd already messed up. It's better I let Grayson work on his own." He explains, completely sure of himself. I can tell from the way he looks completely at ease.

"Well, okay. Just be prepared to hide quickly then." I order. I really don't want to kick him out. 

I'm glad I'm not alone if I'm being honest. My parents are home, just down the hall, but they may as well be in Taiwan with how much distance there is between us. It's nice to be next to another person, and Damian makes for good company.

"I've never been in here before. It suits you." He comments dryly, glaring a little at my very bright yellow walls. That makes me smile a little, for some reason.

"The spare rooms are pretty bland. I like having a bit of character." I state. He notices the photo of my parents that I keep on my nightstand, but he doesn't comment on it. Or how young I look.

"You're not worried about people learning too much about you?" Damian questions with a pointed look to my CD stack for some reason. I shake my head.

"You're welcome to look around. I'm an open book." I say, flopping backward onto my bed. His posture is stiff as a board, but I'm comfortable enough to not need to hide my behavior.

He nods slightly from what I can see. I just watch him move around the room. Most likely looking for hiding spots. I get a little lost in thought as he picks something up from the floor and stares at it. He flips through a couple of pages before staring even harder.

It takes me much too long to realize he's reading my diary.

I quickly jump up and snatch it from his hands. He looks at me in slight surprise before his face evens out again.

"What did you mean by, 'yes, even Damian? Am I not supposed to eat the food provided to me?" He says snarkily. I fluster under his piercing gaze.

"No no, that's not it. I just meant that you seem a bit more restrained compared to your brothers. It was really just an off-hand comment that you really weren't supposed to read." I explain in a quiet rush.

"You said I could look around. Though I suppose even an open book may have a couple missing chapters." He says with a devilish grin.

"I suppose so," I say. Even if it is devilish, I like his grin.

"Hm." He continues looking around until his gaze falls onto the CD stack on my nightstand again. He raises a brow.

"Is that how you typically listen to music?" He asks. I sit back down on my bed, propping myself up with my arms.

"Sometimes. Usually just when I get really, lonely. It fills the silence." I admit, looking away from his cold, bright eyes. That one patch of my wall is really interesting right now.

"Tt, you have no other things to do?" He questions. I offer him a small shrug.

"Not really. I do school, I take care of the house, I hang out with Betty Boop, and I train. That's pretty much it aside from the occasional hobby." I shrug. He looks me up and down, not in a predatory way, but in an assessment.

"You have quite a lot of time on your hands then." He states. I nod slowly, an eyebrow raised.

"Kinda," I admit. He continues to assess.

"And you conveniently had the space for 4 additional people." He states, although skeptically. I shrug for what feels like the millionth time.

"I didn't pick the house, I just live here. I think my parents wanted me to be more social. Have people over." I say. And yet, telling me I should be making friends almost every time they visit doesn't actually help with my social skills.

"So why hide us then?" He asks. I blink at him, slightly bewildered.

"Because my parents would murder me if they knew I let a bunch of strangers stay with me for an indefinite amount of time... Oh..." I trail off, realization dawning. Betty Boop may have had a point. It really wasn't my smartest decision.

"So, why did you?" He prompts. I bite my cheek, thinking. Debating my answer.

"Well, I'm alone a lot." I start. He stares at me blankly, his arms crossed. "So with a combination of bad social skills and what I assume is a desperate need for human interaction, my judgment may have been a little... Off," I admit warily. He sighs.

"Well, at least you're aware of it." He smirks. I blush, but it isn't as warm as usual. Just a pink tint to my cheeks.

"I like to think I'm self-aware of most things." I defend.

"Are you aware of your tendency to fluster easily?" He asks. I scoff, narrowing my eyes playfully.

"It's not like I can help it." I fold my arms across my chest. "But believe me, I'm aware of how easy it is." He stalks closer with a smirk, and I can't tell if I should lean forward or shift away.

"All it takes is a pretty face and half an evil smile." He states, but he's proving his point when my face gets warmer. 

"Your smile isn't evil." I contradict on the only point I can. He raises a brow, face settling back to neutral. "I think your smile suits your face. Most people's smiles do." 

"You say that like you watch people smile as a hobby." He comments, neither a contradiction nor an agreement. I look down at my feet with pursed lips.

"Just an observation." I find myself defending.

"Not one easily made." He says. There's something curious in his voice, and I look up to see the same thing glittering in his eyes.

"I used to people watch a lot. It helped when I was in a really unfamiliar place while traveling." I admit, most likely easier than I should have. "People are always people, no matter where you are." I smile brightly

"Am I just a person to you then?" He asks, almost teasing but not quite mean enough. I look him over comically, assessing my answer as I do.

"Yep. It doesn't really matter where you came from. You're human, Dami." I lightly tease back with a comfortable grin. 

He surprises me by staying silent, the tips of his ears darkening just a bit. I raise a brow, and he seems to snap out of it easily enough.

"That's not my name. Why did you change it?" He asks, almost harshly if not for the soft tone just beneath it. 

"It's a nickname," I explain until I realize he may not know what that is. "It's something you call someone instead of their name. It's usually a term of endearment made from a shortened version of their name." I hope he doesn't think I was making fun of him.

"I know what a nickname is." He crosses his arms. "Why did you give me one?" He seems to accuse. 

"I just thought it suited you. Sorry, I won't use it again." I try to laugh off the feeling that churns in my stomach. Oddly enough, something similar flashes across Damian's face.

"No." He frowns. "You may use it as you wish." I smile at the flutter in my chest. 

"You got it, Dami." I grin childishly up at him.

If I didn't know better, I'd think he was blushing.