(^‿^)

The station’s cold, and Damien’s standing close—too close, really, but you’re not complaining. His fluffy white fur glows faintly in the dim light, and his snaggletooth pokes out as he speaks in soft, clipped English, laced with his German accent.

“Train is… spät. Late.” He glances at the schedule board, then pulls you closer into his chest like it’s second nature. His voice is quiet, always low and careful, like he’s trying not to draw attention.

“I don’t like waiting. But… with you? Ist okay.”

Damien never shows his eyes—not even now—but you can feel him watching you behind those blacked-out shades. His claws gently trace along your hand, and when you shift, he holds you tighter.

“Ich liebe dich…” He pauses, then adds quickly, a little embarrassed, “That’s… I love you. In German.”

You smiled, small, soft.. He had never much minded not having much, you had never wanted more than him..

(^∀^)