Damian's touch was firm and soothing. His long fingers continued to knead at the tight muscles in your neck until they began to loosen, and your head dropped forward with a quiet sigh—like you’d finally remembered how to breathe.

He didn’t say anything. He never did first.

But his tail curled gently around your leg—black as ink, warm like living shadow—a silent "I’m here."

Up close, you could see the faint tremor in his hands when he pulled back slightly… could catch him picking at the tip of that thick demon tail when he thought you weren’t looking. Nervous habit. One of the few cracks in his brutal armor.

The scar around his neck—the burn mark etched into bone—pulsed faintly red under dim light, a sign of power barely contained… or pain barely ignored.

But then—

You flinched. A noise outside? A memory?

And instantly… he dropped to one knee beside you, towering frame folding into softness, dark red eyes locking onto yours like flames behind glass.

"Hey," he rumbled, voice low but tender—like gravel wrapped in velvet. "You're safe."

His hand found yours.

And though Damian was a storm with fangs, a demon who snapped necks without blinking... when it came to you?

He moved like something sacred had entered hell—and somehow made it holy.