Damian awoke in a strange place, greeted by the gentle touch of a hand against his bruised cheek. Blinking away the remnants of sleep, he tried to make sense of his surroundings. It was clear he wasn't in his own room or on the familiar rooftop where he had been before.
Images flashed in his mind—wind on his face, the sensation of almost flying, until someone had yanked him back, enveloping him in warmth and safety. Slowly, he opened his eyes again and found himself face to face with a concerned individual.
"Damian?"
Startled, Damian's panic surged, and he swung his hands upward instinctively, nearly striking the person, Aleena, in the face. His breath quickened, memories of the previous day flooding back—his fight with his father, the tears, and the overwhelming fear of what lay ahead.
No matter what happened, Damian had resolved to never return to that wretched house. He'd rather endure the harsh streets than go back to his abusive father. Anxiety gripped him, his hands clenched involuntarily.
"Damian!" Aleena exclaimed, alarmed and fearful for Damian's well-being.
In a bid to calm him down, Aleena grasped Damian's hands, intertwining their fingers to prevent him from forming fists. "Shhh... You're okay. You're okay," Aleena repeated, guiding their clasped hands onto the blanket.
Those simple words somehow made Damian feel safe and reassured, gradually steadying his breathing. His eyes darted around the room, realizing that he was in Aleena's room, but he couldn't comprehend why. How had he ended up here?
Suddenly, he sat up abruptly, scanning the room for his duffle bag. If he had left it on the rooftop, he'd be left with nothing—no money, clothes, nothing to keep him from returning to his father's house. The thought of losing it sent a surge of panic through him, until he spotted it in a corner, hidden from view. Damian let out an inaudible sigh of relief.
Confusion swirled in his mind as he turned his gaze toward the boy hovering over him. Aleena had been studying Damian for the past ten minutes as he slept, noticing the cuts on his left arm and the purplish bruise forming on his right cheek. His concern deepened as he observed the injuries scattered across Damian's body.
When Damian awoke, teetering on the brink of a panic attack, Aleena knew she had to do something. She began to repeat the words she had uttered to Damian on the rooftop, trying to provide comfort and solace. She pulled Damian into a gentle embrace as tears welled up in the boy's eyes, letting him cry into her shoulder.
Damian's tears flowed freely as he let out all the emotions he had bottled up inside. His thoughts raced—his father, his current predicament, the chaos of his life, and the notion that maybe he should have let himself fall from that rooftop.
The small part of his thoughts reserved for Aleena made him wonder why this girl was offering him comfort. Yet, in that moment, Damian didn't care. The last time he had been hugged or touched so affectionately had been by his mother on the night she died. He cried and sobbed, unburdening himself in Aleena's arms.
For a while, Damian reveled in the warmth and safety Aleena's embrace provided, an experience he had never expected to have again. Eventually, the realization of how vulnerable he had been hit him, prompting him to pull away and look into Aleena's eyes.
Aleena's gaze was filled with concern as he questioned Damian about what had happened. "Damian? Are you okay? What happened?" she asked, her eyes reflecting worry and confusion. Why had Damian been on the brink of suicide?
Damian, however, remained silent, hanging his head and staring at the plain white comforter on Aleena's bed. He felt like he had already caused enough trouble for Aleena, his cheeks burning with embarrassment.
Aleena tried to coax Damian to look up, biting her lip in concern. She knew nothing about Damian beyond the fact that he was followed by a throng of girls and rarely attended their shared classes, preferring to skip out and sleep.
She felt guilty for not paying more attention to Damian before. The thought that Damian might have died if she hadn't stumbled upon the rooftop haunted her. That knowledge prompted her to gently lift Damian's head and cup his cheek, brushing her thumb over the bruise on Damian's face, silently wondering how he had gotten it.
"Damian," Aleena inquired seriously, "were you running away?"
As Damian locked eyes with Aleena, a tumultuous whirlwind of emotions swirled within him. His eyes, a deep brown bordering on the jet black of his hair, were wide open, almost as if they were wells of pain and despair. Tears welled up, making the room blur as he struggled to maintain his composure.
Aleena's question hung in the air, heavy with unspoken turmoil. Damian could have answered in countless ways—running from his father's abuse, escaping the haunting memories of his past, seeking refuge from the guilt he carried, or fleeing the torment of his current existence. There were so many reasons, and Damian couldn't pinpoint which one Aleena wanted to hear.
In the end, he simply nodded, letting Aleena interpret his answer as he saw fit.
Aleena's eyes reflected a mixture of concern, understanding, and determination as he processed Damian's silent response. Without any judgment, he recognized the depth of Damian's pain, and he felt an overwhelming urge to protect this vulnerable boy from any further harm.
Their silence lingered for a moment before Aleena gently spoke again. "It's going to be okay, Damian. You're safe here," he reassured, his voice a soothing balm for Damian's tortured soul.
Tentatively, Damian began to share fragments of his story with Aleena, the boy who had been nothing more than a distant acquaintance until now. He spoke of his tumultuous relationship with his father, his father's violent reactions upon learning of Damian's sexuality, and the suffocating sense of guilt that had haunted him for years.
As he poured out his heart to Aleena, Damian felt a growing connection, a bond of understanding that he had long yearned for but never found. Aleena listened with empathy, his eyes never leaving Damian's, his thumb absentmindedly tracing the contours of the bruise on Damian's cheek.
Hours passed as Damian's story unfolded, each word a painful release of pent-up emotions. He described the pivotal role his mother had played in his life, reminiscing about the night she had held him close before her tragic death. It was the last night he had ever experienced such warmth and affection.
Aleena didn't interrupt, didn't offer solutions or advice. He simply offered his presence, a comforting anchor in Damian's stormy sea of thoughts and feelings.
As the night deepened and Damian's narrative wound down, he looked at Aleena, his eyes searching for understanding and acceptance. Aleena met his gaze with a soft smile, his own eyes conveying a promise of unwavering support.
"Thank you for listening," Damian whispered, his voice trembling with vulnerability.
Aleena reached out, his fingers gently brushing against Damian's cheek where the bruise marred his once unblemished skin. "You don't have to thank me, Damian. I'm here for you."