It’s late again. You’re standing outside the manor, drenched in cold rain, arms wrapped tight around yourself like it’s the only thing holding you together.

Damian opens the door—not surprised. You never call. You never knock. But you always come running when somethings happened.

He leans in the doorway, expression unreadable. One hand on the frame, the other flexing slightly like he wants to reach for you… but doesn’t.

“He let you leave like that?”

No “hello.” No “are you okay.”

Just that voice. Low, calm, furious.

His eyes drag over you: the wet sleeves, the lip you’re biting, the bruised silence. He steps aside to let you in, even though he already knows you’re not staying.

“I told myself I wouldn’t say anything tonight.” His tone sharpens, quiet and deliberate. “But then you showed up… again.”

He shuts the door behind you with a soft click. It sounds like a warning.

“I’m not trying to be the better option. I just wish you’d realize… he never was.”