the Secret Life of Damien Carmichael

27. Better than Prom (part II)

Oliver sighed, and Damien only felt more foolish, "Honey, I had no idea you felt this way," he said.

Damien sniffed despite himself, he could feel tears in the corners of his eyes. "I just feel so guilty because I know how much this means to you. You only get one senior prom and I want you to be able to have that I just... I don't think I can go," he said, tears falling before he could even hope to stop them.

Oliver wrapped his arms around Damien, pulling him into his chest.

"We don't have to do anything you don't want to," he promised. Damien sobbed harder, burying his face in Oliver's chest then. Oliver stroked his hair, rubbing small soothing circles into Damien's back. "It's a silly dance. We can dance whenever we want. And if we want to do something by ourselves, completely unrelated to Prom, then what's what we'll do," Oliver pulled back for a moment and wiped away Damien's tears with the pad of his thumb, pressing a kiss to the top of Damien's forehead. Damien blushed, exhaling a sigh of relief as he once more buried his face back into Oliver's chest.

"Thank you," he said quietly.

He could hear Oliver's smile even in the dark, "I'm glad you told me," he said. "You have to communicate things with me."

Damien nodded, "I know." It had been one of the biggest struggles of their relationship thus far, at least, as far as Damien was concerned. 

Several hours later, Oliver and Damien made their way to the train station nearest to Westlake and purchased a ticket into the city.

It would be several more hours before they arrived, but Damien had prepared for that, he had brought along his backpack with his laptop and several notebooks and an assortment of pens. He was nearly two-thirds of the way done with his novel, and at the current rate he was going, he figured he might even be able to finish it before graduation. 

Damien could feel Oliver attempting to read over his shoulder, all while trying to look as though he wasn't.

Damien smirked, making sure to obscure whatever he was writing from view. Not that he really needed to try. His penmanship may have been steller when it came to penning personal notes and love letters, but it was abysmal when it came to his own writing. He had created a system of shorthand for himself, shortening words or phrases where needed in order to save him time. Ironically, he had to work to make his handwriting imperfect, but it was worth it.  It had become particularly handy when Damien had been writing some smutty fic or other during class as it meant that no one, not even the teacher would likely be able to read what he was working on.

Time stood still when he was writing. Even when he paused to consider one thing or another about the story, considering the phrasing of a sentence or two or even trying to search his brain for whatever word he was looking for, it still felt as though time had ceased to exist. Far too quickly for Damien's liking, the train pulled into Grand Central Station. Damien packed his belongings into his backpack, zipping it up, and the two stepped off the train and onto the platform.

Grand Central was a sprawling mass of a station that Damien had seen at least a thousand times since childhood. There was nothing particularly special about it, and yet, as he looked over at Oliver, who was staring around the station in wide-eyed wonder, he couldn't help but find it somewhat charming.

"Come on," Damien said after a moment. "We'd better get going," he ushered Oliver towards the stairs and up towards Time Square, trying to avoid any random passersby.

Oliver stared up at the buildings, clearly impressed, as Damien hailed a cab. It would have been difficult, for anyone else, to snag a last-minute hotel room at the Waldorf, but the Carmichael's retained a standing suite at the hotel at all times for business purposes. Or rather, his father did.