Damian did not show up the next morning.
Or the morning after.
By day three, Aurora was ready to storm next door with a watering can and interrogate him.
But instead, she swallowed her worry, opened the shop, and tried to pretend the emptiness she felt was just coincidence.
Spoiler: it wasn't.
Around noon, Lila stuck her head into Aurora's office.
"You look like you're waiting for someone," she said casually.
"I'm not," Aurora replied.
Lila raised an eyebrow. "So the way you flinched every time the bell rang was just… cardio?"
"Lila, please."
Her sister plopped into the chair opposite her. "Okay, okay. But you're worried."
Aurora hesitated.
Finally—
"…Yes."
Lila's teasing faded, replaced by concern. "Then check on him."
Aurora opened her mouth to argue.
Closed it.
Sighed.
"Fine."
Damian's Cottage
Aurora knocked once.
No answer.
She knocked again.
Still nothing.
Her heart tightened. "Damian? It's Aurora. Are you okay?"
Silence.
She tried the doorknob.
It wasn't locked.
She peeked inside cautiously. "Damian?"
The cottage was dim, curtains drawn.
The living room was scattered with crumpled papers.
Ink-stained mugs.
Open books.
And on the couch—
Damian.
Curled up beneath a blanket, hair a mess, expression hollow.
Aurora's breath hitched. "Damian…"
His eyes opened slightly.
Bleary.
Exhausted.
"…Why are you here?" His voice was barely audible.
"You disappeared," she said gently. "I was worried."
"You shouldn't be."
Aurora walked closer. "Too late."
He tried to sit up straighter but winced.
That tiny sound made her heart twist painfully.
She knelt beside the couch. "Damian, what happened?"
He stared at his hands.
Ink smudged his fingers.
His nails were bitten short.
Finally—
"I can't write," he whispered. "Not a sentence. Not a word."
Aurora sat quietly.
He continued, voice trembling.
"I stay up all night trying. And when I close my eyes, I see everything I lost. Everything I failed at."
A pause.
"I thought moving here would help. But it just… hurts."
Aurora's chest ached. "Damian…"
He shook his head, frustrated.
"You don't understand. People expect things from me. My publisher. My readers."
A shaky breath.
"My ex."
Aurora went still.
There it was.
The ghost he'd been carrying.
"…Your ex?" she said softly.
Damian flinched like the word itself stung.
"She was my editor. My first reader. My anchor."
He swallowed hard.
"And I broke her."
Aurora's heart sank. "How?"
He met her eyes.
"She said I chose my stories over her."
His voice cracked.
"She wasn't wrong."
Aurora felt something inside her shift—
sympathy, sadness… and something sharp, jealous, unwelcome.
"Damian," she whispered, "loving something doesn't mean you can't love someone else too."
"It did for me."
His jaw tightened.
"I don't want to hurt anyone again."
The words slipped out before she could stop them—
"You're not hurting me."
Damian froze.
Slowly… painfully slowly… he looked at her.
Aurora felt the air change.
Thicken.
His voice was a whisper. "I am. Just by letting you get close."
Her breath caught. "Damian—"
"You shouldn't care about me," he said quietly. "I'm not good at being cared for."
Aurora's heart cracked open like a storm.
She reached up and touched his cheek.
He stiffened—
Then leaned into her palm
like someone starved for warmth.
"Damian," she said softly, "you don't get to decide what people feel. Not even me."
He closed his eyes.
For a moment, he looked fragile.
Breakable.
"…Why are you so kind to me?" he whispered.
Aurora's voice trembled. "Because you look like someone who hasn't been shown kindness in a long time."
His eyes opened—
and the look in them stole her breath.
Raw.
Intense.
Devastatingly vulnerable.
He reached out—hesitantly—and took her hand in his.
His thumb brushed her knuckles gently.
Soft.
Careful.
Like she was something precious.
"Aurora…" he murmured.
Her heart pounded so loudly she could hardly hear.
Was he going to—?
Was this the moment—?
Was he—?
BANG BANG BANG!
They both jumped violently.
Aurora's hand flew away from his; Damian nearly fell off the couch.
A voice called from the doorway:
"Damian? Thought I'd check in on you—OH."
Aurora and Damian both turned.
Ethan stood there.
Holding a toolbox.
Raised eyebrows.
A very unhelpful smirk.
"…Am I interrupting something?"
Aurora wanted the earth to swallow her.
Damian closed his eyes, exhaling the longest, most tortured sigh of his life.