Damon stared at that innocent expression on Rian’s face, barely hiding the laughter glittering in hazel eyes. “It’s a book, Rian. Not reality.”
With an exaggerated intake of breath, Rian fluttered a hand to his chest. “Gasp. He calls me something other than ‘Falwell.’ It’s starting already. He’s in love with me, and now—” He paused, cocking his head at Damon, while Damon scowled. “He’s going to scowl at me furiously. And tell me to—”
“Stop being a brat,” Damon snarled, right as Rian echoed,
“—stop being a brat.”
While Damon glowered, the back of his neck hot, Rian let out a delighted laugh.
“I’ll stop,” that little brat said, and leaned forward to set the romance novel on the coffee table with utmost care, his smile lingering. “I’m sorry for teasing. I did need something to lift my mood after what a day it’s been.” With a sigh, he folded his hands over his knee, looking across the room at Damon with a sort of dry, frank warmth. “It’s fine, Damon. It is. We’re both adults. We kissed. It was a moment of impulse. We don’t need to make drama over it.”
Damon eyed him—but despite that impish glitter in his eyes, there was nothing false about that honestly presented statement; no artifice or mockery. “I can work with that,” Damon said slowly. “And I don’t mind your teasing. I get needing a pick-me-up.” He frowned. “This is feeling pretty damned bleak.”
Rian’s smile faded. “And I hate it,” he said. “I was always told this was where parents sent their problem children to be forgotten.” He glanced away, his pointed chin resting to his shoulder as his gaze drifted out the window; sunset light fell through the glass until it felt like it was trying to mirror the gold-spangled light in the art classroom, in how it kissed his skin. “But that’s not Chris. No one deserves to be just dumped off somewhere like a burden no matter their mistakes, but...” His mouth creased into a bitter line. “He’s so good. So kind. Any parent should be proud of him. How could they just...leave him here, and not care?”
That question shouldn’t have hit Damon so hard.
Except it was a question he’d asked himself so many times.
So many fucking times.
How could they just leave me?
A lifetime of wondering why he didn’t look like his mom and dad, only for them to tell him the truth when he was old enough. Kids on the playground sneering he didn’t have a mom and dad, not real ones, and kicking dirt at him until he got big enough to kick back and suddenly everyone gave him a wide berth, like he was some kind of hulking violent monster who’d lash out at them for no reason at any minute instead of a wounded child defending himself. Wondering if he would’ve been treated that way if he’d grown up among people who’d looked like him, who saw him and not some big brown ignorant brute...and wondering why that had been taken away from him.
His fists clenched—and he had to turn away from Rian, or his face might...give him away, he didn’t know. But he gave Rian his back, staring down at the tea mugs and then forcing himself to go through the motions, finishing ripping open those bags and dropping them in before lashing in probably too much damned sugar from the little pour-spout dispenser, but he didn’t care right now and he wasn’t really thinking about that, not when his hands were tight and his gut roiled and his heart beat like an echoed memory of ringing, awful bells summoning up terrible and hurtful things.
“To some parents,” he muttered, more to the mugs than to Rian, “the worst thing their children can do is actually need them to parent.”
Silence—then a worried, quiet, “Damon...?”
Fuck. He didn’t need to get Rian all worked up over Damon’s own bullshit. “I’m sorry,” he muttered. “I was just...wondering.” He dropped a spoon into one of the mugs, then just...sat there staring at it; at the faint curved hint of his reflection in the silver handle. “Wondering if someone just...didn’t want me. If I was too much work to keep, so they dumped me off and made me someone else’s responsibility.”
Nothing.
Of course nothing.
Because they weren’t friends; they weren’t lovers; they were barely even coworkers, passing ships in the goddamned night, and he shouldn’t be pouring all this crap all over Rian when they didn’t even like each other and—
He’d been so caught up in his own head he hadn’t even heard the creak of the recliner, the sound of light footsteps and swaying fabric.
Until suddenly a warm body pressed against his side, just leaning against him, a slim, soft hand curling against his bicep, a head of rippling, tumbling hair resting to his shoulder. Quiet comfort offered in touch, and in a single low, heartfelt repeat of his name.
“... Damon.”
“I don’t—” Damon took in a hoarse breath; it hurt his chest, and he thudded the heel of his palm against the counter as if he could push the words back inside him—but something about that warm weight against his side seemed to push them to overflow, until he couldn’t contain them anymore. “It makes me feel like a traitor to think that. What if she was a victim? A single mother and... God, I don’t even want to think about what could’ve happened to her. Or what if they just...couldn’t afford me? What if something happened, and they died?” His throat was closing, his eyes hot, and he grit his teeth, staring blankly at nothing, because if he looked down at Rian so quiet and sweet against him he was going to completely crack, and more would come spilling out of him than just harsh, pained words. “What if the state took me away from them? Do you have any idea how often state agencies just take Indigenous children, and I—” He swallowed, trying to get himself under control. “I don’t know. I’ll never know. I’ll never know if I was unwanted...or if they wanted me, but couldn’t keep me.” He pressed his lips against his teeth, biting down on their insides, then took a deep breath, forcing his clenched fists to unlock. “But I feel like I’m a bad person for wondering. For resenting feeling obligated to forgive them when I don’t know...but I do know all the things that could’ve happened out of their control. But I’m still thinking of me, and if I was just...not good enough to keep.” Deep breaths. Deep breaths, but it still hurt like swallowing glass to say, “Just like these kids.”
The quiet, wordless sound that escaped Rian was a gentle thing of sympathy, as if he rung with the echoes struck from Damon’s hurt. His hand tightened against Damon’s arm. “It’s not wrong to wonder that,” he whispered. “Haven’t you spent your entire life feeling like you don’t fit?” His head rested against Damon’s shoulder, angled to look up at him. “Who wouldn’t wonder if there was somewhere they did fit, and wonder what life would have been like if they could stay? Who wouldn’t ask themselves why?” He smiled, sad and small and sweet as candy. “You’re allowed to ask why.”