Damian lay awake in Zayn's bed all night, staring at the ceiling. He couldn't sleep, every time he closed his eyes, the images came back, vivid, merciless. Zayn stumbling through the door drunk, shirt half-unbuttoned, lipstick marks scattered across his neck and chest like brands. Multiple shades. Multiple mouths. The lazy smile that had died the second Zayn saw Damian sitting on the couch, wide awake and staring.
He felt used, like a secret again. The thought twisted in his chest like a knife, and tears stung his eyes. He had done this before with Caleb. He'd stayed, hoping one day that Caleb would love him in public. That obviously hadn't happened, and just like Zayn, Caleb had said he was still figuring things out, that he needed time. Of course Damian had believed him, he knew how difficult it was coming out, so he never rushed or forced anything.
