Page 63 of Pretty When He Bleeds

“Maybe he didn’t want to talk about it,” Killian suggests, though his tone makes it clear he’s not convinced either.

“That’s what worries me,” I admit. “What if something’s going on and he’s not saying anything? What if I don’t see it until it’s too late?”

Killian’s eyes soften, and he leans forward, resting his elbows on the table. “You’re thinking about Caleb.”

I nod, my throat tightening. “I can’t go through that again, Kill. I can’t lose someone because I wasn’t paying attention.”

He shakes his head. “Roman, this isn’t the same. Damon’s not Caleb.”

“I know that,” I snap, though the words feel hollow. “But what if he’s struggling and I miss it? What if—”

“Stop,” Killian says, cutting me off. “Look, I get it. You’re scared. But beating yourself up over what happened with Caleb isn’t going to help Damon. You’ve just got to be there for him. Let him know he can come to you.”

I let out a heavy sigh, my hands running through my hair again. “I just don’t know how to get him to open up. He keeps everything so fucking close to the chest.”

He shrugs. “Then wait him out. Be patient. If he’s anything like you’ve been telling me, he’ll talk when he’s ready. But let him know hecancome to you.”

I nod, his words sinking in. “Yeah. Yeah, you’re right.”

Killian smirks. “Aren’t I always?”

I roll my eyes, standing up. “Thanks, man. I owe you one.”

“Just don’t be too loud when you bring him home next time,” he calls after me, laughing as I flip him off on my way out.

Killian’s right. Maybe I just need to give Damon the space to let me in.

And when he does, I’ll be ready.

Damon

Thecharcoalsmudgesmyfingers as I drag it across the paper, the rough texture catching on every stroke. I’ve been sitting at this bench for the better part of an hour, my earbuds in and the world shut out, letting my hands move on autopilot.

It’s only when I stop to look at the lines and shapes taking form that I realize what I’ve been drawing.

Roman.

His sharp jawline, the mess of his dark hair, the way his lips curl into that cocky, infuriating smirk, like he knows exactly what he’s doing to me. And his eyes—fuck, those eyes that have me drowning in them.

I stare at the sketch, my chest tightening. I didn’t even mean to draw him, but here he is, staring back at me from the page like he’s taken root in my mind and doesn’t plan on leaving.

I’m falling too hard, too fast, and I know it. He makes me feel like I’m coming undone, like every piece of me is breaking apart and rearranging itself around him. It’s like there’s no bottom to this, just an endless drop where every thought is about him and every impulse pulls me closer to him.

And after last night?

Fuck.

My grip tightens on the charcoal as my thoughts spiral. What if he thinks I’m clingy? What if last night was too much, me pulling him into my mess and needing him like that? Roman’s not the kind of guy who wants someone hanging off him. He’s strong, independent, and stubborn as hell.

And me? I’m a fucking disaster.

I lean back on the bench, blowing out a slow breath and trying to shake off the thoughts. But then I see him, and all the noise in my head quiets.

He’s across the quad, sitting on the grass with Thorn, Killian, and Damien. His head is tipped back, laughing at something one of them said, and the sight of him so relaxed and happy hits me square in the chest.

My fingers itch to sketch him like this, to capture the way the sunlight catches on his hair, the way his smile lights up his whole face.

But then Thorn tackles him, and the moment shatters.

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