Strangers | ✔️

nine

friday ☼

saturday

>>>>im home

damien started a call that lasted 16 minutes.

damien: good night

>>>>good night :)

read at 10:17pm

monday

>>>>have a safe flight

damien: im back

>>>>!! welcome back

damien: good night

read at 11:02pm

thursday

damien: hey

>>>>hey

>>>>i miss you

read at 11:50pm

friday

damien: I miss you too

read at 12:36am

saturday

damien started a call that lasted 49 minutes.

* * *

I stumbled my way out of the bathroom. I had resorted to the quiet qualms of the connecting bathroom between my room and the master bedroom, taking my time in the squeeky clean bathtub. My family called it the last time I would use the old thing because student housing had less than just a lack of a bathtub.

Out of habit, I picked up my phone, but no text from Damien. Raegan and Allie's newer texts and another group chat had already drowned out his position at the top of my messaging app. I considered pinning our chatroom, but the lovesick thought made me stick my tongue out in a distaste much directed at myself.

Damien hadn't contacted me since last Saturday. He had called me then, claiming he was unpacking the rest of his luggage and deserved a pleasant distraction. He had put me on speaker as he refolded clothes or trifled with souvenirs, and I had enjoyed the way his voice would zone in and out as he walked around his seemingly spacey room to his closet or his desk. Neither of us turned on the video.

But after that, he hadn't reached out for days, and now I was panicked. So panicked, in fact, that the sight of my naked body in the bathroom mirror completely re-agitated the nerves that were supposed to be calmed by the bath.

I had wanted to avoid one thought for long enough now—ever since Damien even remotely chose to be associated with me. That the pretty boy was utterly and completely messing with me.

Because the body dysphoria that hit me on bad days were so real that I couldn't imagine the very thing that happened in that hotel room that day. That he was willing to kiss me like that, to hold me like that, to touch me like that. To look at me like that. Like all he saw was soft moonlight, or warm tea, or gentle music, so much so that he thought, maybe... it's okay to apologize now. I do not need my ego in front of them.

But what if I was just romanticizing everything he ever said to me?

What if, and this was the real question, what if this was just a game to him, like those sad light novels or romance films that depicted so many as heartbreakers? A one night stand, a dare, a pastime, and me, a plaything?

I wasn't being logical. Why would he have gone through so much trouble if his feelings weren't real? So much for apologizing, then urging his friends to apologize... or the way he'd hid me in his duvet instead of putting me on the spot to be a laughing stock? Damien had proven himself to be a lovely person, and I should trust him. Right?

I needed answers.

The phone had left a big, red mark on my hand. I turned on the screen for yet another habitual check for Damien. Nothing.

Maybe curiosity didn't kill the cat, overthinking did.

I tapped on the app and on our chatroom, eyes sliding to the call button on the top right corner. And then back to the almost empty chatroom, barely a few words texted back and forth.

Some form of my social anxiety surfaced in the form of telephobia in this very bad moment, and I scowled. All the more reason to beat it over the head by calling my crush and/or supposed boyfriend on the phone.

I sucked in a deep breath and called Damien, pressing the screen against my ear.

It was only after a series of long rings did the call anti-climatically disconnect, informing me that he didn't pick up. I pouted in a mix of disappointment and relief.

As a last resort, I guessed that maybe he didn't have access to Wifi, and could only pick up on actual calls.

Damien's name should have been easy to find on my contact list. But then I was hovering over the only two names that started with D, and neither of them read 'Damien'. In realization, I shook my head and scrolled down to the S section. I'd only changed his name in the messaging app. How forgetful of me.

I hovered a finger over the number. A number labelled stranger. I still remembered his expression as he typed that into my phone. Stone cold, like he wasn't making a silly joke.

I pressed on the number and called him.

Hey, I drafted in my head. If he picked up, go hey, or hello, or, just, hi...

I pursed my lips. The phone rang for a couple of rings, and it was giving me anxiety. Pick up, please, some part of me screeched. Or not. Don't talk to me.

Maybe I was being too needy. As an introvert myself, I fully understood the need to be alone, or offline, for a little while, or all the time. But I missed him. I missed him, and overthinking does not do me good, ever.

I wanted to hear his voice, or at least get a "good morning" text on some days. And I wanted to see him, in person, smiling at me or hugging me or–

"Hello?" Damien's voice came hoarsely through the line, and my breath caught in my throat.

"Damien?" My voice was shaky. Shuffling, like he was sitting up from bed. Judging from his dry voice, was he taking a nap before I called? "Oh, did I wake you up?"

"Yes," He deadpanned, then quickly retracted like he remembered manners was a thing. "Well, no, not really. I should be awake anyway. It's... good to hear your voice."

"Heh," I half-smiled into my empty room.

A deep sigh. "I miss you." The phrase made my heart stutter, and I almost repeated it to him before remembering I called to ask something.

"Hey, I don't know if this is a good time, but..." I rinsed my lips with my tongue.

"Damien, what are we?" An attempt to settle my doubt and confirm our relationship.

Silence, like he was still asleep, trying to process my words.

Then, a breathy laugh that I didn't quite catch over the phone, followed by a sly and chilly remark.

"Easy," He drawled out. "We're strangers."