afterthought || d. wayne (2)

ONE

Her colored pencils were the only thing disrupting the silence, scratching against the sketch paper. Noelle glances at her reference, making said reference blink in surprise.

"Stop blinking," she commands with a sly smile, "I keep losing my place."

She shifts on her spot on the couch, allowing Damian to do the same.

"You're coloring my eye," Damian retorts, but still makes the effort to lower his blinking rate. "I can't not blink forever."

"It's just for an hour or so," Noelle dismisses with the wave of her colored pencil. "Besides, I thought you were so amazing."

"My skill set may be extensive, but it doesn't include not blinking for over an hour," he retorts. "The color will look different the longer my eye is strained."

"You're so smart," Noelle sighs before switching greens. "But talking shifts the light so hush."

Damian takes the chance to roll his eyes the second she looks at her sketchbook again. "Where's Leo?" Damian questions to help pass the time. "Already at another friend's place?"

"His room," Noelle answers before glancing up. She gives no warning when she gently grabs him by the chin and tilts his face toward the sunlight beaming through the windows behind them. "Probably playing on that console of his."

As if on cue, Leo's shouts can be heard from down the hall. "Kill them! Kill them! Watch my—Damn it!"

"Some violent online game," Noelle continues, "He's been such an asshole since he turned thirteen." She looks down at her sketchbook and continues to color. "I think he plays with his friends on it."

"Is he good at it?" He watches her blend the colors on the page.

"He sure thinks so." Noelle pauses when she abruptly stops her sketching. She looks him in the eye. "Homewrecker, why are you here?"

Damian frowns at the question. "You asked me to come over. Here I am."

"After everything that happened?"

Where did this come from?

Something cold forces his gaze to move to her sketchbook. He couldn't look away, despite Noelle's intense gaze on him. The half-colored eye shifts, winking (or blinking?) at him before it looks at Noelle.

"King..." he starts slowly, "what are you—"

"Damian."

Her voice had gone hoarse and ragged, vaguely sounding like hers layered over something demonic. It sends a shiver down his spine, and that cold gaze is still forcing him to look at the sketchbook.

He doesn't want to look at her anyway.

"Damian," she (it?) repeats, "why are you here? How could you play boyfriend after everything you've done?"

Damian swallows as his body tenses at the questioning. "Stop this."

"After you disobeyed orders? After you killed Alfred?"

He shakes his head as the sketched eye glances back at him. "This isn't real."

"I am, Damian," it hisses, barely sounding like her anymore. "I am your guilt manifested because once again you've fucked everything up and once again, you're seeking some sort of validation you don't deserve!"

"Be quiet!" Damian snaps. Why am I sitting here? Why am I not shutting it up myself? This isn't real, this isn't real, this isn't—

"Damian?"