Aria turned back toward Damien, her arms casually crossed over her chest, her brow lifting in amusement. But the sight of him stopped her in her tracks. For a moment, she could only stare, her lips parting slightly as her eyes swept over his freshly groomed appearance. The man who had emerged from the washroom wasn't the disheveled, half-starved survivor she had first encountered.
Damien's jaw was sharp and clean-shaven, his dark hair now neatly trimmed and styled in a way that gave him an effortless, almost regal air. His t-shirt clung just enough to his chest and shoulders to hint at a strong, lean build beneath. Despite the exhaustion etched faintly in his features, there was something undeniably striking about him.
"You've got to be kidding me," Aria muttered, breaking into a wide grin. A small laugh escaped her lips as she shook her head. "Were you secretly a model before the world went to hell?"
Damien's brows rose slightly, and a faint smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. "A model?" he echoed, chuckling softly. "No. Just an ordinary guy, trying to survive like everyone else."
"Ordinary, my ass," Aria teased, her grin lingering as she motioned for him to sit. "Alright, Mr. Ordinary, your food's ready. Sit down before it gets cold."
She didn't waste time setting the table. The meal wasn't anything extravagant—after all, resources in the apocalypse were scarce—but she'd done her best with what she had. The aroma of roasted potatoes mixed with small slices of canned meat filled the air, accompanied by a side of what could only be described as a crude but serviceable soup made from preserved vegetables and a few spices. It wasn't much, but it was hearty and warm, a reminder of a world that once had plenty.
Damien sat down at the table, his posture relaxed but composed. Aria placed the plate in front of him, the steam rising tantalizingly into the air. "Dig in," she said with a small smile, taking a seat directly across from him.
This time, Damien didn't let his hunger take control. Instead of devouring the meal like a starving animal, he ate slowly and deliberately, savoring each bite. His movements were measured, elegant even, as he used the fork and knife with precision, pausing occasionally to sip the warm soup. When he finished, he carefully wiped his mouth with a napkin, setting it neatly on the table.
As he leaned back slightly, satisfied and full, Damien glanced up—and froze. Aria was watching him. Not casually or absentmindedly, but intently, her crimson eyes locked onto him as if she were studying every movement he made. Her chin rested lightly on her hand, and there was an unreadable expression on her face, somewhere between amusement and intrigue.
Damien cleared his throat, unsure of how to break the silence. But even then, Aria didn't look away. Her gaze remained steady, almost challenging, as if daring him to acknowledge it. He waved a hand in front of her face, the motion snapping her out of whatever trance she'd been in.
"Uh, you okay there?" he asked, his tone laced with curiosity.
Aria blinked, sitting up straighter and breaking eye contact at last. Her cheeks flushed faintly, though she quickly masked it with a small smirk. "You're a lot easier on the eyes when you're cleaned up, you know that?" she said, brushing off the moment with a playful edge to her voice.
Damien leaned forward slightly, resting his forearms on the table. "I'll take that as a compliment," he replied with a faint smile.
Aria glanced at him one last time before shifting her gaze elsewhere. "So," she said, changing the subject, "what do you want now? Need anything else?"
Damien thought for a moment before responding. "Water," he said simply, his voice calm and steady.
Aria's lips curled into a sly smile. She tilted her head slightly, her eyes glinting with mischief. "Is that the only thing you want to drink?" she asked, her tone shifting into something softer, something more… suggestive.
Damien frowned slightly, confused by the sudden shift in her demeanor. But before he could ask what she meant, Aria leaned back in her chair and, with an air of deliberate playfulness, lifted one hand to adjust the collar of her shirt. The motion caused the top of her ample chest to rise slightly, the soft curve of her skin catching the dim light. Her movements were subtle but deliberate, and the faint jiggle of her breast as she adjusted her posture left little to the imagination.
Damien's brain stalled for a moment, his thoughts grinding to a halt as he tried to process what was happening. His throat tightened, and he felt a sudden heat creeping up his neck. Any man in his position would have found it hard not to stare, but Damien forced himself to remain focused. His dark eyes flicked back up to meet hers, his expression unreadable.
"Water," he said again, his tone unwavering despite the way his heart hammered in his chest.
Aria's smile widened, her gaze never leaving his face. "I like you," she said simply, her voice light and teasing.
Damien raised an eyebrow, unsure whether to take her words as a compliment or another one of her jokes. Before he could respond, Aria stood up, her movements fluid and confident as she walked toward the small kitchen counter to grab a bottle of water. She didn't look back, but there was a knowing smirk on her lips, as if she'd won some unspoken battle.
Damien let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding, leaning back in his chair and running a hand through his hair. Aria was unlike anyone he'd ever met—bold, unpredictable, and completely unapologetic. She had a way of keeping him on his toes, and for better or worse, he couldn't deny that it made her… interesting.
As she returned to the table and placed the water in front of him, Aria's expression was casual once again, as if nothing had happened. "Here you go," she said, her tone light and cheerful. "Anything else?"
Damien shook his head, lifting the bottle and taking a long sip. The cool water was refreshing, but his thoughts remained clouded, lingering on the tension that had hung in the air just moments ago. For the first time in a long while, he felt something stir within him—not hunger, not exhaustion, but something far more complicated.
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