Page 17 of Mutual Desire (The Awakening #1)

The Command

The doorbell rang persistently, pulling Damien out of the heavy fog of sleep. He blinked at his phone—four missed calls from Dimitri. Damien groaned, rubbing his face as the doorbell buzzed again.When he finally opened the door, Dimitri stood there, looking both amused and impatient.

“Are you on crutches or something? Took you foreverto open the door,” Dimitri teased, flashing a grin.

Beside him stood Samuel, always the quieter one. He held a white box decorated with pictures of donuts in one hand and a tray of coffee cups in the other. Dimitri carried an Ed’s Breakfast bag, the enticing aroma escaping from it immediately softening Damien’s irritation at the abrupt wake-up call.

“Hey guys.” Damien’s voice cracked with exhaustion as he stepped back, allowing them inside.He eyed the coffee greedily, plucked a cup from the tray, and shuffled toward the bathroom without another word.

“I think he just woke up,” he heard Samuel say to Dimitri, amusement lacing his voice.

While Damien took care of his morning routine, Dimitri and Samuel settled at the kitchen table, chatting softly. Samuel's voice had that easy warmth, and Damien could hear Dimitri responding with playful sarcasm, but there was always something under the surface when Dimitri spoke to Samuel—a certain softness, a flicker of unspoken feelings he kept hidden just below the bravado.

When Damien returned, still groggy but feeling more human, he found them seated across from each other, already digging into their food. Damien dropped into the chair next to Samuel, setting his phone and coffee on the table.

“So, what’s up?” he asked, rummaging through Dimitri’s breakfast bag and pulling out two sandwiches.

Dimitri gave him a look of exaggerated offense. “What’s up? We should be the ones asking you that. We haven’t seen you in forever.”

“It’s been, like, a week,” Damien replied through a yawn, taking a bite of his sandwich.

Dimitri huffed. “A week is too long. You’ve been avoiding me. Admit it.”

“I saw Sam yesterday,” Damien said defensively, pointing at their mutual friend. “Besides, where were you during bowling night? You ditched us.”

Dimitri smirked, sipping his coffee. “Couple’s night,” he said, lifting his hand dramatically. “And as far as I know, I’m still single and free like the wind.”

“That’s never stopped you from bringing one of your random hookups,” Samuel chimed in with a rare but knowing smile.

The comment caught Dimitri off guard. He gave Samuel a playful glare, though his smile gave him away. “I don’t remember asking for your input, Sammy.”

There it was—that flicker again. A teasing mask barely concealing the affection simmering beneath.

Damien shook his head with a grin, exchanging a knowing glance with Samuel.

“So, why have you been avoiding us, pretty boy?” Dimitri pressed, leaning forward.

Damien rolled his eyes. “I’m not avoiding anyone. I’m sitting right here, aren’t I?”

Before Dimitri could fire back, Damien’s phone buzzed against the table. Craig’s name flashed on the screen. The familiar rush of guilt surged through Damien as memories of the night before resurfaced. Nabokov’s kiss— kisses —the tension, the betrayal.The phone vibrated again, and Damien, without thinking, flipped it over, hiding the screen.

“You’re not answering?” Dimitri asked, mouth half-full of sandwich.

“No,” Damien replied casually, pretending to search for another sandwich in the bag, though he hadn’t touched the second one yet. “I’ll call him later.”

Dimitri narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “You sure everything’s good with Craig?”

“Yeah, everything’s fine,” Damien muttered, avoiding eye contact. But Dimitri’s gaze lingered longer than necessary, as if he sensed something just beneath the surface.

When the phone buzzed again, Dimitri smirked. “Looks like trouble in paradise,” he teased.

Samuel gave Damien a look—not judgmental, just concerned—and it nearly broke Damien. Of all people, Samuel was the least likely to understand. The guy was engaged, happily in love, living the dream Damien was supposed to be living with Craig. How could he confess to Samuel that he had let another man kiss him and that, worst of all, he hadn’t hated it?Damien forced a grin. “No, no fight. Just...busy.”

Dimitri raised an eyebrow, unconvinced, but let it go—for now. Samuel, ever the diplomat, changed the subject to something lighter, and Damien sighed in relief. But Dimitri's lingering glances toward Samuel didn’t escape Damien’s notice. That look—subtle but there—told Damien that Dimitri’s feelings ran deeper than friendship, even if Dimitri would never admit it out loud.

The conversation drifted to movies, with Dimitri declaring he needed to see one before Eric did, just to spoil the plot. It was childish game between the two friends, but it made Damien laugh, a welcome distraction from the knot tightening in his chest.

“I have to head out, guys,” Samuel announced suddenly, glancing at his phone. “Andrea needs help finalizing the guest list—and apparently, it’s urgent.Damien saw the slight shift in Dimitri’s expression—the flicker of disappointment, masked quickly behind an easy smile. “Of course she does,” Dimitri muttered, more to himself than anyone else before picking up his phone.

Samuel stood, oblivious, and said his goodbyes. Dimitri barely glanced up from his phone, his mood noticeably darker now that Samuel had left. Damien gave Samuel a knowing look but said nothing, respecting Dimitri’s unspoken emotions.

Once Samuel was gone, Damien turned to his friend. “You good, Dim?”

Dimitri shrugged, but his easy grin didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I should be asking you that, D.”

The question hung in the air between them, heavy with unspoken meaning.Damien swallowed hard. Before he could stop himself, the words tumbled out. “I kissed someone.”

Dimitri arched an eyebrow, showing no surprise. “Yeah? Or did they kiss you?”

Damien exhaled sharply. “He kissed me...but I didn’t exactly push him away.”

Dimitri gave him a look—half amused, half understanding. “How many times?”

“Two...maybe three,” Damien admitted, feeling the weight of his own guilt.

“And?” Dimitri leaned in slightly. “Did you like it?”

Damien hesitated, the answer twisting inside him. “I didn’t hate it,” he whispered, shame clouding his voice. “But it shouldn’t have happened.”

Dimitri’s gaze softened, all traces of teasing gone. “It’s okay if you liked it, D. I’m not here to judge you.”

The kindness in Dimitri’s voice almost broke Damien. He shook his head, running a hand through his hair. “I love Craig. I really do. But...” He trailed off, unable to put his confusion into words.

“But there’s something about this guy,” Dimitri finished for him.

Damien nodded reluctantly. “Yeah. And I hate it.”

Dimitri leaned back, crossing his arms. “Then cut him out, D. Before it gets worse.”

Damien sighed deeply, knowing Dimitri was right. Nabokov was dangerous—not just because of what he wanted, but because of what Damien couldn’t seem to resist.

When Dimitri finally left around 6, after a day spent immersed in video games and devouring Chinese takeout, Damien sat in the heavy silence of his apartment, his gaze locked on his phone. The missed calls from Craig stared back at him, each one a reminder of the avoidance he’d carefully orchestrated. Deliberate. Intentional. And now, the weight of those unanswered calls pressed down on him, suffocating and impossible to ignore. With the empty apartment pressing in around him, those ignored calls felt like ghosts lurking, reminding him of decisions he couldn't escape. This was it. He needed to call and confess. Get it out in the open. It was better than letting it fester inside him.

He took a deep breath and pressed the call button. The phone barely rang before Craig answered, sounding agitated. “Damien?”

“Hey... how are you?” Damien began, trying to sound casual, but Craig’s sharp voice cut him off.

“Are you okay? I’ve been trying to reachyou all day.”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Damien whispered, his throat tightening. “I was with Dimitri—my phone was in the other room.”

Silence followed, thick and suffocating.

“That’s the excuse you’re going with?” Craig said, his voice a low, disbelieving whisper. “I’ve been worried sick, and you...forgot your phone?”

Damien closed his eyes. “I’m sorry, it wasn’t intentional, I swear—”

“Whatever, Damien.”

The call ended abruptly. Craig had hung up. Damien stared at the phone, the dial tone ringing in his ears. He swiped at the screen, trying to call Craig back, but there was no answer. On the fourth attempt, his phone buzzed with a new message—from Nabokov.

8 PM. My office. I’ll be waiting .

Damien’s heart pounded as frustration boiled over. He quickly typed back:

What if I don’t come?

Nabokov’s response was immediate.

Then I’ll come to you.

Damien gritted his teeth, typing again:

If you can find me first.

He barely had a moment to feel smug before Nabokov’s next message wiped the smirk from his face.

Don’t worry about that.

Damien’s fingers hesitated over the screen.

What’s that supposed to mean? he sent back.

Two minutes later, Nabokov’s reply came:

That’s for me to know and you to find out. Good night, Damien. See you tomorrow.

Damien tossed the phone onto his bed and dropped his head into his hands. Tomorrow was going to be hell. Between Craig’s anger and Nabokov’s relentless pursuit, Damien didn’t know how he was going to survive it.

He ran a hand through his hair, overwhelmed by the mess he had created. He needed a plan, a way to smooth things over with Craig and somehow navigate his meeting with Nabokov. But the more he thought about it, the more tangled everything became.

He glanced at his phone one last time—no new messages from Craig. His chest tightened with regret. This was all his fault. He never should have let those kisses happen. But they had, and now he was paying the price.

With a sigh, Damien stripped off his clothes and ran a hot bath, sinking into the water in hopes of calming his racing mind. But the moment he closed his eyes, memories of Nabokov’s kiss came flooding back—his lips, his touch, the way his tongue had tasted... Damien groaned in frustration, sinking deeper into the water.

Later, as he lay in bed, phone clutched in his hand, he stared at the ceiling, knowing that sleep wouldn’t come. Not with tomorrow looming over him like a storm.

He typed one last message to Craig, hoping for some kind of resolution before the day ended.

I’m sorry, baby. I’ll explain everything tomorrow. I love you.

But there was no reply. Just silence.

Damien sighed, turning his phone face down on the bedside table. His thoughts drifted, not to Craig, but to Nabokov—and that infuriating smile that haunted his every thought.Tomorrow couldn’t come soon enough. And yet, he dreaded every second of it.