Chapter Text
“Alright, Clara, let’s just get this patched up,” Damen said, smiling into the tear-stained eyes of an eight year old girl with a nasty friction burn from a gym floor. It was bleeding lightly and she was gripping her knee in a vice-like grip. “We’re just going to put some of this antibiotic cream and a bandaid on it and then if you want something for the pain, I can give you a bag of ice.”
“Do I have to go back to gym?” she asked.
“You can sit with me until it’s over if you want,” Damen said. “I think I can allow that much.”
That earned him a soft smile and a large sniffle, her hand coming up to wipe her nose. Without a word, he handed her a kleenex. After another second, she pulled her hand away from her knee. Briefly, she glanced at it, but then averted her eyes to Damen’s, who held her gaze easily and gently. “This might sting a bit,” he murmured. “Let me know if you need me to stop.”
He smeared antibiotic cream across her burn liberally and then took a large square bandaid and pasted it over the top. Smoothing down the corners, he said, “Alright?”
She nodded, but stayed firmly on the bench. “Want that ice?” he asked.
“I hate ice.”
Damen laughed. “Me too. When I was younger, I played lots of sports and I got all sorts of injuries. My dad would always make me ice them, switching on and off every twenty minutes, and I hated it every time. It’s so uncomfortable.”
“It burns as much as my burn.”
“That too.”
She smiled again and started swinging her legs. Damen stood from his chair and wandered around, searching for his jar of lollipops. They were often misplaced as secretaries and sometimes even teachers would come in and steal them, but he was happy to keep up the supply. It gave him visitors during the day, something that wasn’t always a guarantee for a school nurse at a rather busy private school.
Finding the jar, he held it out in front of Clara and she took one. She sent him a curious, almost calculating look and he laughed. “You can have two if you want. Just don’t tell anyone you got the second one from me.”
“I can keep a secret.”
“I’m sure you can. It looks like we have fifteen minutes until gym is over. What would you like to do until then? I have some coloring books, I can tell some really boring stories, or you can play games on my phone.”
“Games, please.”
“I should’ve just handed it over,” he smiled, lying his thumb on the home button of his phone and watching it open. He had a host of games that were child friendly for this very purpose. Handing it over, he watched as she picked Angry Birds and made a happy sound as she began. There was a small flutter of joy in his stomach and he leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes, glad for the brief break this fifteen minutes offered him.
Only five minutes had passed, however, when Clara said, “You’ve got a text from a…La-u-rent.”
It took a moment for Damen to register what she was saying, since the pronunciation wasn’t typical, but then he groaned. The girl made an amused giggle and said, “Do you not like them?”
“He’s…” Damen wasn’t sure what to say. Laurent was impossible to describe. It wasn’t that he didn’t like him, or maybe it was. It was really hard to say. “He’s complicated.”
“My mom likes to say that,” she grumbled.
“It’s a very adult answer, isn’t it? Sorry about that.”
She shrugged and handed the phone over. With a sigh, Damen opened his messages and read the text.
L: Busy tonight?
D: Haven’t I told you not to text me at work?
L: I suggest not texting back if it’s an issue.
Damen set the phone down and ran a hand over his face. His drama seemed to be entertaining for Clara and before he could say something to distract her, she started peppering him with questions. “What did he say? Are you allowed to text? I know I’m not. Why are you doing that with your face?”
“He’s just being difficult.”
“Does he do that a lot?”
“Yes,” Damen said. “That’s all he does. That’s his only setting.” Then he shook his head and slapped his hands down on his thighs, pulling himself away from spilling all of his personal problems to an eight year old who, while interested, really didn’t need to know. Besides, it wasn’t professional. “It’s time to send you back to class. Would you like me to walk you or would you prefer a note?”
“A note, please.”
“You’ve got it,” Damen replied, finding a scrap of paper and a pen. He scribbled down a message, added that she was excused from gym if Carl decided to be the devil and make her do the last five minutes, and then signed his name. Handing it to Clara, he smiled and said, “I hope I don’t have to see you again too soon. Nobody likes burns.”
“Thank you,” she said happily, taking the note and bounding out the door of his tiny office. Right after she left, he set to recording her visit and the supplies used, before leaning back in his chair and staring at his phone.
“Fuck me,” he murmured, typing a message back to Laurent.
D: I’m not busy. Need me to watch Nicaise?
L: Yes. Seven to eleven alright with you?
D: Sure.
L: I’ll leave money next to the door. Please take it this time.
D: How many times do I need to tell you it’s unnecessary? I’ve got money and I like the kid.
L: Endlessly, because I don’t care.
D: Anyone ever told you you’re a bit rude?
L: Yes. You among them.
D: I should get back to work.
L: You could have at any point.
Rolling his eyes, Damen abandoned the conversation, knowing that Laurent would keep responding as long as he did. He was the last word sort of person. It was completely infuriating.
There was a knock on his door and Justine, a fourth grade teacher, came in with a regular, a young boy named Devon who had a proclivity for serious nose bleeds. Sure enough, he had another one and Damen smiled, swiftly shifting back into work mode. Taking a bloody wad of kleenex away from Stephen and handing him a fresh one, he gestured to the bench and waved at Justine, saying he would take over. As he helped contain the blood, Damen tried not to dwell on the small twinges of irritation still present thanks to Laurent.
“Where are you going?” Nikandros asked, taking chicken nuggets and french fries out of the oven. If Jokaste or Damen wasn’t cooking, that was about as gourmet as he ate.
“Babysitting.”
“That kid again?”
Damen nodded, slipping his jacket and some gloves on.
“I don’t understand why you want to spend more time with kids when you spend all day with them.”
“I know you don’t,” Damen said, waving to Jokaste and Jord, who were lying on the couch and watching Christmas baking shows. “I’ll be back around eleven-thirty. Don’t have too much fun without me.”
“We wouldn’t dare,” Jokaste smiled, waving back and then Damen was out the door and in his car, a crappy Toyota Corola that sounded like it was always about ten seconds away from dying. Turning the key, he heard the typical clicking sounds of the engine before it sputtered to life and then he was off, driving across the city of Portland and to the hills, where houses larger than anyone needed existed.
The drive was familiar enough by now that he hardly needed to pay attention, spending more time staring at the Christmas lights that were gradually popping into existence. Rain was pattering lightly against the windshield and he sighed, relaxing into his seat, glad to be driving, glad to be going to see Nicaise and to hang out in a house that was much nicer than his own.
Ten minutes later, he pulled into the driveway of the deVere mansion, parked his car, grabbed two small packages, and then hopped out. He knocked and then hunched his shoulders, desperately wanting to get out of the cold. The door opened and Damen smiled at Carlos, the butler. “Hey. How are you?”
“Alright, sir. I’d keep out of Laurent’s way. He’s in a mood.”
“He’s still here?”
“That’s why he’s in a mood.”
“Great,” Damen sighed, “Thanks, Carlos.”
“Sure thing,” he replied, helping Damen out of his jacket and hanging it on a coat rack beside the door. He offered to take Damen’s packages as well, but Damen refused, wanting to deliver them himself. It wouldn’t have been something he could’ve insisted a year ago when he first started doing this, but since then, Damen had been able to create positive relationships with the entire staff. They would drop their formality around him and often let him in on house gossip if he was interested.
He’d barely stepped into the warmth of the house when Nicaise’s golden retriever, Sam, bounded up to him and began licking his open palms. Bending down, Damen ruffled his ears and murmured, “Hey, buddy. Nice seeing you, too. Know where Nicaise is?”
Thankfully, Damen didn’t have to depend on Sam. A not-yet-broken voice said, “You should visit more often. He misses you.”
Glancing up, Damen grinned. “But you would never miss me.”
“Of course not,” Nicaise replied with the proper amount of scorn and aloofness. It was all an act and one that took very little effort for Damen to break through. Currently, his hypothesis was that Laurent ran a similar act, just a much better one, but he had no proof and Laurent’s exterior was impossible to break through.
Before he did anything else, he handed over the two packages he brought. Nicaise burst into a beautiful smile and accepted them. Damen held up a finger and said, “They’re to be opened on Christmas day, though.”
“Of course,” Nicaise said. Damen knew he would open them tonight.
“So what are the plans for tonight?”
“I thought we could binge Stranger Things.”
“Sure,” Damen shrugged, giving Sam one last pat before standing. “But one of these days I will convince you to start Gilmore Girls.”
“You’ll have to tie me to a chair and duct tape my eyelids open.”
“That could be arranged.”
“I’d kill you first,” Nicaise said in a serious tone. Damen laughed and followed Nicaise from the massive foyer full of light and beautiful marble floors. When they reached the stairs, they heard clattering footsteps and before long, they saw Laurent rushing down them, doing up a tie. When he reached the bottom, he pulled a comb from his straitjacket and brushed his golden hair back. Only then did he notice Nicaise and Damen staring at him. In a sing-song voice, Nicaise said, “Uncle is going to kill you.”
“Well, someone hid my watch,” Laurent said breezily, eyeing Nicaise.
“And I had an excellent time doing it.”
“I’m sure.” Laurent barely glanced at Damen, but it was enough to set Damen on edge. “Hello, Damen,” he said. “Thank you for this.” And that was the only recognition he got, as was typical. Laurent had already turned back to Nicaise and said, “How’s my tie?”
“Crooked now,” Nicaise said, tugging on it and unraveling it halfway. Laurent rolled his eyes and headed for the door, not looking back. Damen watched him, mildly curious how he behaved towards his staff and, admittedly, grudgingly, liking Laurent in dark formalwear, his blonde hair and pale skin matching well.
“Come on,” Nicaise said, grabbing his hand and tugging him around the stairs that led up, which hid the stairs that led to the basement. Together, they stumbled down them and into the massive basement, stocked with a full bar, a pool table, and a large TV surrounded by couches in cold colors but cozy fabrics.
Nicaise brought Netflix up on the screen, found Stranger Things and played it. He settled in right beside Damen, pulled a box of Sour Patch Kids from his pocket and offered some. It wasn’t going to be too terrible of a night.
Laurent paused before walking to the table where his uncle sat, allowing himself a deep breath, a moment to collect himself and his thoughts. He never enjoyed these dinners and yet, as long as he lived in his uncle’s house, there was no getting out of them.
Stepping into the light, he held his head high and walked leisurely across the restaurant full of glittering couples, nodding to his uncle as he sat down.
Exactly as Laurent predicted, the first words out of his uncle’s mouth were, “You’re late.”
“I’m sorry, Uncle. I was waiting on the babysitter.”
“He hasn’t ever been late before.”
“There’s always a first for everything,” Laurent said, forcing himself to smile genially. Everything was forced with his uncle. Every moment had to be calculated and performed because he was constantly being tested. It didn’t help that his uncle knew exactly why he stayed.
“Very true,” his uncle replied. “It’s no matter. I had them delay the first course ten minutes. It should be here in five. Did you have a nice day?”
“Yes. Work was long but productive.”
“I wish you would come work for me. One of these days I’ll convince you. The workload will certainly be easier to maintain.” Yes, Laurent thought, and you won’t have to lose track of me for nine hours everyday. “You know how I love my job, Uncle. I can assure you, the workload isn’t a problem.”
“Well, if it ever gets to be too much, let me know.”
“Of course.”
Thankfully, the first course of their dinner arrived and Laurent could relax for a moment and eat in silence. It was probably going to be the only pleasant part of the evening, especially since he still had no idea why this dinner was happening and it was disturbing him.
The reason didn’t come up as they ate, as they drank two glasses of wine each. Instead, they made unpleasant small talk, mostly about his uncle’s business, a large, boring, insurance company where he was on the board of directors. He’d been steadily climbing ranks for years and Laurent fully expected him to be CEO before he died. It was the kind of power he aspired to have.
As they moved on to dessert—a delicious chocolate torte—Laurent knew the reason was about to come up. His uncle saved all important discussions for dessert. It was rather rude, really, because Laurent loved dessert and would thoroughly enjoy it if it weren’t for the conversations. Sure enough, halfway through his first bite, his uncle said, “I’d like to talk to you about something.”
Biting back a stinging retort, Laurent said, “I’m listening.”
“The higher management is having a Christmas party…”
“Yes, in four days,” Laurent interrupted, wishing to hurry this along. More than anything, he wanted to be home and in bed, reading a good book and sipping some tea. “I know I’m expected to attend.”
“Yes, you are.” There was a short pause and then his uncle said, “I think it’s high time you start bringing a date to these sorts of events. Preferably the same one and preferably someone you can at least pretend to care about. I don’t want to horrify my colleagues, after all.”
“A date.”
“Yes.”
“Why on earth does it matter if I have a date?”
“I’m expected to have a certain image and family life is a part of that. For years, my nephew has been attending events, grooming to become a large factor in this company sometime in the future, and he’s never brought a date. Now he’s nearing twenty-five and there’s questions. I’d prefer to put them to rest.”
Laurent could feel his control slipping. He was exhausted and flickers of irritation were burning low in his chest. His uncle knew he wasn’t a sociable person, he knew that the very idea of Laurent having anyone who would be remotely interested in attending parties with him was ridiculous, and he knew Laurent would want to fight him. The only thing stopping Laurent from doing just that was the knowledge that his uncle wanted him to. It was another goddamn hoop and he would just have to jump through. For now. “Very well,” he said. “I’ll bring a date to the Christmas party.”
“Excellent,” his uncle smiled, making that word sound like good boy.
Before he ruined everything, Laurent said, “May I go? I promised the babysitter I’d be back by ten-thirty and I would prefer not being late to two appointments tonight.”
“Yes, of course. Tell Nicaise I love him. I won’t be home tonight.”
Tell Nicaise I love him. There was the subtle reminder. Laurent repressed a shudder and nodded politely, folding his napkin and setting it on the table, before walking out of the restaurant. Only once he was in his car, driving home, did he let his composure fall away. He rubbed fingers over his temple, turned up his music—Florence + The Machine—and took long, deep breaths. He needed a date and there weren’t many options to pick from, not unless he wanted to pick some random person up off the street. Which he didn’t. He couldn’t imagine spending a night at a ridiculous party full of rich, absurd people with a person he didn’t know at all. It would take everything out of him.
He could take Vannes. She would adore it and she would know the rich details of the entire room’s personal lives before the night was out. While it would be entertaining, it wouldn’t irritate his uncle in the slightest and he would very much prefer to irritate his uncle.
Sadly, the only other option was Erasmus, the only other co-worker he could stand. But Laurent was willing to admit that Erasmus was probably too young and he would bore Laurent, so much so, that Laurent would grow to hate him and that would be unfortunate. The fact that Erasmus was a man would irritate his uncle, though, so that was something.
Either way, the options were dismal. As Laurent contemplated just what he was going to do, he pulled into the driveway of his house and saw Damen’s car still parked there. Glancing at the digital clock in his car, he remembered he’d basically run from the restaurant and that he was home early.
“Fuck,” Laurent murmured, unbuckling his seatbelt and slumping down in his seat. It was rather pathetic to sit out here and wait, but it would keep him away from Damen.
Damen, who Nicaise had instantly taken a liking to; a good sign. Damen, who was a school nurse and was undeniably attractive. Damen, who had only ever shown him kindness despite his consistently rude behavior. Damen, who texted him while at work, always a little longer than Laurent expected him to. Damen, who…
Laurent sat up in his seat, an idea occurring to him, and went through his mental checklist. Then he was out of the car and in the house. He knew they would be downstairs in the basement watching TV, so he went to the top of the stairs and was about to bound down when he considered his appearance. He needed to look as inviting and open as possible, because otherwise, this wasn’t going to work. Men like Damen didn’t respond to stiff backs, freshly-combed hair, and politely cold words. Swallowing his pride, Laurent undid the tie from around his neck and stuffed it in his pocket. He unbuttoned the top three buttons of his dark blue button down and ran fingers through his hair, loosening it gently, so that his bangs fell into his face. He also kicked off his shoes. Deeming himself suitable, he went downstairs.
Sure enough, he was there with Nicaise, their faces lit blue by the screen. They were sharing a bowl of popcorn and Nicaise was murmuring something to him, something that made Damen burst into laughter. It left an intoxicating smile on his face, so intoxicating that Laurent had to bite down on his own smile. Very carefully, he cleared his throat.
It caught both of their attention. Nicaise’s eyes widened slightly and Damen looked as though his entire world had been reordered. Perfect. That was exactly what Laurent needed.
“Do you think Damen and I could have a moment, Nicaise?”
Nicaise shrugged, paused whatever show they were watching, and trudged up the stairs, shooting an amused glance back at Damen. Strangely, Laurent felt like laughing himself. There was something about bemused on Damen, something endearing…and, god, he really needed to stop having those kinds of thoughts, especially since he was about to make it very difficult for himself, all for the sake of pissing of his uncle.
There was an awkward silence and then Damen stood in a rush, shoving his hands into his pockets and shuffling his feet. “Uh…what can I do for you, Laurent?”
“I need you to attend a Christmas party with me.”
Damen let out a surprised laugh and then he finally met Laurent’s eyes. “You want me to go to a Christmas party. With you.” He started laughing again, but harder. Figuring it was better if he let Damen get it all out now, Laurent waited, trying to be patient. Finally, Damen finished laughing and said, “You’ve hardly said more than ten sentences to me. Why the fuck would I do anything with you? Why would you want me to?”
“You don’t prettify your words, do you?”
“No. I believe that’s your job.”
Laurent let his mouth turn up at the corners. He could keep up. His ability to converse intelligently wasn’t just limited to text messages. That was good.
Stepping forward, so that they were only a couple feet apart, Laurent said, “I went to dinner with my uncle tonight and, apparently, I should be in a serious relationship by now, at my dreadfully old age of twenty-five.”
Damen smirked. Laurent resisted the urge to smile back. Before Laurent could continue his speech, Damen said, “You need someone to pretend with you, don’t you? I can’t imagine you have many friends.”
“No, I don’t. Certainly not any who meet the requirements for this particular position.”
“And I meet them, do I?”
“Yes. I need a man—because at least half of the board is homophobic—the fact that you are my nephew’s babysitter is a plus and I believe that you are capable of keeping me entertained enough for a night.”
“Who are you trying to piss off?”
“My uncle, of course.”
“Right,” Damen said. “Awfully mature.”
“Thank you.”
Damen chortled disbelievingly and ran a hand through his hair. “I suppose you have a reason you would think I’d be at all interested.”
“I don’t think you’re interested, to be honest. I’m appealing to your kindness, something I know you have in spades.”
“So I’m doing this out of the goodness of my heart.”
“I’m quite desperate.”
“Let me get this straight. You need someone who will attend fancy social events with you. That someone will not only be under the scrutiny of homophobes, but under the scrutiny of a pissed off man who is rich enough to make that someone disappear. Beyond that, that someone will also have to pretend that they’re in a serious relationship with you.”
“A burgeoning romance, at least,” Laurent said.
“That’s quite a lot you’re asking for. Especially from a man who you’ve shown less interest in getting to know than that large leafy plant that sits to the side of your front door.”
“Do I need to get on my knees and beg? I will.” And he would. He really didn’t want to. In fact, he was praying to all sorts of gods he didn’t believe in that that’s not what it would come to.
Damen considered him thoughtfully. This surprised Laurent, as he’d never actually seen Damen do anything thoughtfully. Usually, he just did whatever Nicaise or Laurent asked, not offering any resistance of alternative option. The silence began to lengthen into something uncomfortable and Laurent was about to speak, to distract himself, but Damen spoke first. “No, I don’t think that’s necessary. I…alright. I’ll go to the Christmas party. I can’t promise anything beyond that, though, because I might kill you or myself halfway through.”
It was more than Laurent thought he would get, so he held out his hand. When Damen accepted it, he shook, and said, “Excellent. It’s on Friday at eight. I’ll pick you up at seven-thirty.”
“Okay.”
They dropped their hands and then stood there. Laurent knew he should say something, but he was too busy thinking about why Damen had agreed to this with such little resistance. He was only aware he’d zoned out slightly when Damen cleared his throat and moved around Laurent to go up the stairs. Before he could leave, Laurent pulled out his wallet and held out fifty dollars. “Take it,” he said.
“Seems I’ve done you a favor already.”
Laurent rolled his eyes, moved forward quickly, grabbed Damen’s wrist and shoved the cash into Damen’s palm. Then, with precision, he closed Damen’s fingers around it. He tried not to think about how warm Damen’s hands were or how badly he wanted to pry Damen’s fingers away from his palm just so he could push them back down again.
“This is going to be a nightmare,” Damen sighed, stuffing the cash into his pocket. He didn’t bother to disguise the displeasure in his voice or expression.
“I’m too beautiful to be a nightmare.”
Damen groaned and Laurent fought down a smile, maintaining a blank face that went perfectly with his confident tone. It was too easy to press his buttons and Laurent enjoyed pressing buttons. Besides, it was important to maintain distance, to make sure Damen knew where exactly they stood when they weren’t pretending.
“I’m already regretting this.”
“But you’re not changing your mind.”
“No. Good night, Laurent. Tell Nicaise the same for me, please.”
“Of course. I’ll show you out.”
They walked up the stairs and to the door in silence. Damen gave an aborted attempt at a wave, before he remembered they weren’t actually friendly and cut it off too early. He was shaking his head as he got into his car and as Laurent watched him drive away, the only thing he could think was: Why?