Damian knew that the emptiness that affected his chest was his fault, that he was responsible for the loneliness and guilt that gnawed at him, for all the damage he had received. His body was beaten, physically and mentally exhausted, his head spinning around a single thought: you.

He had screwed up so badly with you. Every argument, every shout, every broken glass. It had all been his fault. He had been a coward, avoiding you when things got out of hand, when his emotions were stronger than his reasoning.

He thought he was protecting you, maybe not from the world, but from himself. He knew he couldn't love you like you expected him to—how could he love someone else without even loving himself?

He was a coward. God knows he was. But at that moment, none of that mattered to him, he just wanted to see you, even for a moment, to know if you were okay. He never thought he would end like this: battered, kneeling in your door with dull eyes.