Damien froze mid-bite, a half-eaten can of peaches in his hand, as Aria's voice rang out behind him.
"What are you doing?" she asked, her tone sharp and her footsteps deliberate as she strode toward him.
He turned around quickly, guilt etched across his face, a sticky trace of syrup glistening on his chin. The realization of his unrestrained feast hit him, and he opened his mouth to explain, but no words came out. His body still trembled slightly, overwhelmed by hunger after what felt like a lifetime of deprivation.
Aria stopped just a foot away, her fiery gaze melting into something softer as she took in his disheveled state. The irritation that initially fueled her stride began to wane. She sighed, shaking her head, and placed a hand on her hip.
"You really couldn't help yourself, could you?" she said, her voice now tinged with understanding.
Damien lowered his head. "I'm sorry… I couldn't remember the last time I ate." His voice cracked, a mix of shame and gratitude laced in his words.
Her lips pressed into a thin line, but her posture relaxed. "It's okay," she said finally, her tone more forgiving. "You've been through a lot. How about this—" She gestured toward the direction of the washing area. "Why don't you clean yourself up while I cook something for you? Deal?"
Relieved, Damien nodded. "Deal."
She gave him a small smile before turning back to the small kitchen area, her movements swift and purposeful. Damien set the can down carefully and walked toward the washing room Aria had pointed out.
---
The washing room was compact but functional, a small miracle in the apocalypse. Damien flicked on the light switch, and the faint hum of solar-powered electricity buzzed to life. He caught sight of himself in the large mirror that hung crookedly on the wall—and froze.
The man staring back at him was unrecognizable. Dust and grime clung to his face like a second skin, and his once neat, dark hair now resembled a bird's nest, tangled and unruly. A full beard, wild and unkempt, dominated the lower half of his face, giving him the appearance of someone far older than his 21 years. His clothes hung loosely on his frame, torn and stained.
Damien grimaced. "No wonder she looked at me like that," he muttered.
He peeled off his filthy clothes, each layer falling to the floor with a faint plop. The air in the room felt cool against his skin as he stepped into the shower. The water pressure was weak, but the stream was warm enough, and it felt like heaven as it cascaded over him, washing away the layers of dirt and despair.
When he finally emerged, the mirror revealed a new man—or at least, a glimpse of the man he once was. His clean face brought his features into sharp focus: high cheekbones, a straight nose, and piercing hazel eyes that seemed to glow with a newfound determination. Even with the beard, which now seemed to emphasize his strong jawline, there was an undeniable handsomeness to his reflection.
But the beard wouldn't do. He spotted a clipper Aria had left on the counter and picked it up. With careful precision, he began trimming his hair, shearing away the chaos and restoring order. He shaved his beard entirely, leaving his jawline clean and sharp, each stroke of the blade revealing more of the man he remembered.
Once his hair was tamed and his face smooth, Damien smiled at his reflection. "Much better," he said to himself.
In the corner of the room, he found a stack of neatly folded clothes. Judging by their size, the original owner of the house must have been close to his build. He slipped into a plain white shirt and a pair of dark jeans, both a little worn but clean and comfortable. The fabric felt alien against his skin after wearing rags for some time, but he relished the change.
---
As Damien stepped out of the washing room, a delicious aroma wafted through the air, drawing him toward the kitchen like a magnet. His stomach growled loudly, and he quickened his pace, eager to see what Aria was preparing.
The sight that greeted him stopped him in his tracks.
Aria stood at the small countertop, her back turned to him as she focused on stirring something in a pot. The red cloth that barely covered her chest earlier now seemed even more precarious, clinging to her figure like a second skin. Her long, white hair cascaded down her back in soft waves, catching the dim light and giving her an almost ethereal glow.
But it was her lower half that held his attention. Her curvy silhouette was mesmerizing, her wide hips and round buttocks swaying gently with each movement. The tight, worn jeans she wore hugged her figure perfectly, accentuating the softness of her form. With each step she took to adjust her position, her curves seemed to bounce slightly, a natural rhythm that was both innocent and intoxicating.
Damien's gaze lingered for a moment longer than he intended, but he quickly shook his head and refocused. This was no time to get distracted. He'd been through enough to know that focusing on the wrong things could get you killed.
As Aria turned slightly, Damien stepped forward, clearing his throat to announce his presence.
"You're finally out," she said, her voice slightly teasing but warm. "I was beginning to wonder if I'd have to come in there and drag you out myself."
Damien chuckled, running a hand through his freshly trimmed hair. "It was… nice to actually have a moment to clean up. I forgot what it was like to feel human again."
Aria's smile softened as she turned her attention back to the food. "I figured you'd need it. It's the little things that keep us going in a world like this."
Damien nodded in agreement, stepping closer to the small table where a chair waited for him. The food, whatever it was, smelled like heaven. He had no idea what she was cooking, but he couldn't wait to find out.
For the first time in a long time, Damien felt a sense of normalcy—a fleeting, but much-needed break from the madness outside. It wasn't much, but it was enough. And for now, it was everything.
---