The rest of the drive home was painfully quiet. Damien kept both hands on the steering wheel, eyes fixed on the road ahead. I watched him from the corner of my eye.
Normally when we drove together he would reach for my hand at some point. Or complain about traffic. Or play music too loud and pretend not to hear me when I asked him to lower it. Today he did none of those things, he just drove.
After almost thirty minutes, I finally spoke. “Are you hungry?”
He didn’t look at me. “Not really.”
I nodded slowly. “Okay.”
I turned my gaze to the window, watching the passing buildings blur by. My chest felt tight, this version of Damien felt unfamiliar.
I swallowed. “Damien…”
“Yeah?” His tone was neutral.
“I meant what I said earlier,” I murmured.
“I know,” he said, voice low.
“You don’t
