30 Days of Demonfire

Love

It's about five-thirty in the morning. I've got my laptop open, but I'm so tired that I'm not paying any attention to it all. At the beginning of the summer I enrolled in a few summer classes-two science classes and an English class. I'm supposed to be finishing an essay about feminism in the nineteenth century based on books written by women at the time. Jane Eyre is folded open on my keyboard, but I'm not paying attention to that, either.

I'm sitting on the couch in a comfortable tank top and pajama pants, my knees bent for optimal laptop-viewing, and directly behind me with an arm looped lazily around my stomach is Damian. We got off patrol a little while ago and Damian's staying up with me while I finish my essay that's due for class later. He's supposed to be staying up, anyway. His breath fans over my bare shoulder in steady intervals, and it's really rhythmic and it's not making it any easier to stay awake.

I sigh and put my laptop and the book on the ground while trying to move as little as possible so as not to wake Damian. I get comfortable and rest my head on his chest, burrowing into him contentedly.

He's not asleep, though, and he turns me so that my front is against his without opening his eyes.

"Essay," he reminds me, and his voice is groggy and thick with sleep in a way that normally I find sorta sexy, but now I'm too tired to notice much.

"I'm too tired," I say, and he opens his eyes and gives me a half-hearted disapproving look. "Who really gives a crap about Jane Eyre and sympathetic weather tropes and vampyres locked in the attic, anyway?" I groan.

He brushes my hair out of my face and he furrows his brow. "What was that last bit?"

"It's really not as interesting as it sounds. Too bad you didn't read Jane Eyre at ninja school."

"Hm," he answers, and he brings his hands together at the small of my back, tracing patterns against my skin with his fingers.

We lay like that in the calm and slowly waning dark for a few minutes, and after the light from my computer has faded, Damian mumbles something that I can't quite make out.

"Huh?" I ask groggily.

He clears his throat and he pushes my hair away from my face before dropping his hands away from me completely. "I said I love you."

Woah. I'm not tired anymore.

My hair catches fire quicker than it takes for me to take a sharp breath in. My heart's beating really loudly and way too fast and my blood runs cold and hot at once so it just burns. I push myself away from him so that I'm kneeling between his shins.

He props himself up on an elbow, but he doesn't say anything or try to touch me. He just watches me like I'm a scared cat liable to run away and hide under a car.

"Wh-what?" I demand.

He doesn't repeat himself. He just clenches his jaw, a giveaway that I'm making him nervous.

"I-sorry, I just... Um..."

He holds out his hand without saying anything and I take it so he can pull me against him again. "I knew that would frighten you," he says. Then, almost to himself, he muses, "I've never been in love before."

"I'm not scared," I tell him, and I twist my fingers in his shirt. "I'm just..." Okay, dammit, I'm scared. "I thought you didn't believe in love," I sulk. We've talked about it once or twice, usually as an excuse not to inform the rest of the family about or relationship. It's really about time that we do something about that; it's been almost six months.

Avoiding my hair, which I'm sure is flaming pretty violently, he slides his hand up my back over my shoulder and he touches me under the chin. "I didn't."

Oh X'hal I really wanna kiss him. "Ah..." I stammer. It's really fucked up that Damian's expressing his emotions better than me. "I'm scared," I squeak pitifully.

"I know," he says patiently.

"Damian. We've been dating for six months. That's not very long."

"You are correct," he grants.

"No, you don't get it," I tell him urgently. "Once you say it out loud, it's a promise."

He frowns. "I'm fairly sure you're thinking of marriage."

Oh X'hal saying that isn't helping the violent flipping in my stomach. "No. Being in love isn't committing, really. It's sharing." I touch him over his heart and I scoot even closer. "It's sharing yourself. It's symbiotic."

He brings my hand to his mouth and he kisses my palm. "There is nothing frightening about that, Mar'i."

"Yes there is," I whisper. "It's scary when it's over."

"Ri," he breathes, and his grip on my hand is too tight. "It doesn't have to be over."

"It's always over, eventually," I say, and I'm only getting myself more worked up. It's funny how my body and my hair can be so hot but my blood can run so cold. "Your father-my parents-"

Damian wraps his arms around my waist and gets himself into a sitting position, then he maneuvers me onto his lap and rests his forehead against mine. "Fuck our parents," he says slowly, enunciating each word deliberately. "This isn't about them. This is about you and me, and dammit, Mar'i, I love you." He cups my face between his callused hands. "I was not planning on embarrassing myself in such a way, but your presence is important to me." He takes a deep breath before continuing and I know that this is hard for him to say. "You woke me up, Mar'i. I would quite enjoy making a promise to you. Please let me."

I'm still scared. With every warm flutter that rushes through my blood at his words, there's a wilder part, a part way more interested in self-preservation, that's clawing at me.

But I do what I always do when I'm scared.

I dive.

"I love you, too," I whisper.

"That's not necessary," Damian says, and he strokes my cheek with his thumb. "I simply wanted you to know. I do not require reciprocation."

"Oh, Damian," I mutter. "Shut up and kiss me."