Never before had I eaten such delicious pancakes. We lolled on the bed, side by side, eating them in silence while watching Home Alone.

"So he eats." I remarked whimsically, licking the chocolate off my fork.

"Of course he does. He eats a lot." he smirked.

"That'd be a hard guess. You don't look like it. Boys and their high metabolism." I jested.

"I tend to forget to eat at times. But when I remember, I eat a lot."

I raised my eyebrows at him.

"You tend to forget to eat at times." I repeated incredulously, widening my eyes. "And meanwhile, I already know what I'm having for dinner when I wake up. How often is at times ?" I asked him with a concerned look.

"Not that often. Sometimes I skip breakfast, other times dinner. It depends." he told me casually, as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

I gawked at him, almost dropping my fork.

"What? How on earth are you breathing right now?!" I exclaimed, frowning at him.

He found my expression funny and gave a euphonious laugh.

"What do you mean? I'm perfectly healthy."

"Excuse you, mister. You may think you're perfectly healthy, but skipping meals isn't healthy at all. Especially not breakfast." I apprised him in an academic tone. "What's your excuse for skipping meals?"

He turned his head towards me with an enigmatic glint of his eyes. His long, black lashes made his hues appear even darker and my heart fluttered for a second because of his vehement gaze.

"I can't keep someone off my mind."

I almost felt a surge of electricity, like a bolt of swift lightning that etched through me. I bit my lower lip, unsure of what to say. Warmth rose to my cheeks and I changed the subject:

"Does he dance?" I asked him suggestively.

"Nope." he enunciated. "But she does. She dances perfectly."

"How would you know?" I laughed, trying to shake off the bashfulness that took over me. I picked up my fork, taking another bite from the pancakes.

"The school dance. Two years ago, on the 24th of December."

I frowned, trying to recall that ball. Indeed, all the students who had taken dancing classes that time had prepared a Christmas dance, and I was in the front row.

"Oh my God!" I cried out joyfully. "You approached me afterwards and told me I was a really good dancer. Was that...that was the first time we met, wasn't it?"

"It was. I thought you wouldn't remember. Although it's hard forgetting those outfits. They were hideous." he grinned.

I took a strawberry from the plate and tossed it at him lightly. He took it from the bed and chuckled, watching me with an amused expression:

"Did you just throw a strawberry at me?"

"You deserved it. Not the strawberry though." I quipped, snatching it from his hand and eating it. "But all the other strawberries. Promise me you won't skip any more meals?" I coaxed with a wishful smile.

He watched me thoughtfully, pronging a slice of banana.

"If you promise to remind me not to skip them." he smiled in return. "You remind me of Joe sometimes."

I snickered, propping my chin on the back of my hand.

"Is that why you don't get along with him?"

He frowned and shook his head, exhaling sharply.

"Why do you think we don't get along?"

"Joseph implied it. And if you had gotten along with him, you would've told me about him, wouldn't you? Why did you keep the fact that you have a twin brother from me?"

"I knew you'd ask me that." he sighed softly. "Joe has always been the perfect son. I'm not saying he's perfect, he has his flaws, like any other human being, but I feel like my dad has always had a liking to him. And my mom too. He has never caused any trouble at school or anywhere else, and he had been the most obedient, understanding child I've ever come across. He never judges anyone, has never disappointed anyone. He's everything I'm not." he summarized, staring at the horizon.

 His tone was bleak, but I knew that when he looked his coldest and untouchable, he was dealing with a malevolent storm of emotions inside. "I didn't tell you about him because I dreaded the fact that after meeting him you'd start to hate me, as Monica did. Like everyone else does. Because I'm the dysfunctional brother. I'm messed up. I'm not a good person. And I deserve the hatred."

Hearing him talk this way about himself severed my heart in two. I could have never imagined that he felt like this, unloved and hated by everyone. Girls literally drooled over him, and he was always so confident, so imposing. An amalgam of emotions made my blood boil: anger at his parents, for not making him feel loved and appreciated; vexation, because the whole academy pointed fingers at him and called him a killer; affection and deep concern for his mental health.

I put the tray with food aside and reached for his hand, squeezing it between mine.

"Damian, look at me." I asked him with a quivering voice. He didn't squeeze my hand back; he scrutinized me stolidly and numbly. "Don't ever say that. Don't ever, ever say that again." I emphasized. "I'm sure your parents love you the same, and no matter what you do, they always will, because you're their son. You're not Joseph, and you shouldn't compare yourself to him. You're your own person. And feeling broken doesn't make you a bad person. Making bad decisions doesn't make you a bad person. You're intelligent, trustworthy, honest, protective, loyal and despite what you think, selfless. I know you'd do anything for the people you love."

"I'm not selfless." he gave a pained smothered laugh. "I'm so damn selfish. Because I can't see my life without you in it anymore. I can't let you go. And if you would've asked me to leave earlier, I don't know what I would've done. I'd probably go mad. I'm already mad."

"Damian..." I stopped him, but he shook his head and squeezed my hand.

"For a very long time, for almost my whole life, I felt absolutely nothing. I thought there was something wrong with me; I felt empty on the inside. But then I met you, and you made me feel more than I've felt in my whole life. I don't know if this is..."

He was interrupted by the ring of my phone, which startled me. He licked his lips with a slight tinge of frustration, leaning back on the bed. I let go of his hand and rummaged through my purse until I found it. As I expected, it was my father. Damn it, I thought displeasingly. Just when Damian was opening up to me about his innermost...

"I'm sorry. I'll be right back." I murmured awkwardly, heading to the dining room.

After a five minute conversation in which I repeatedly assured my dad that we were safe and sound, I checked my messages. I had about six of them from Devon, and 2 missed calls from him.

Bel, where are you? 11:02 PM

Are you OK? 11:05 PM

Come back, let's talk 11:09 PM

You left with Damian? What the hell, Bel, please tell me you didn't let him into your house 11:26 PM

You're not answering and it's freaking me out. Are you ignoring me? 12:14 AM

Clearly, you're too busy hanging out with a psycho than taking one minute to answer me. Wow, best Christmas ever. 12:33 AM

I sighed, feeling a tinge of guilt, and texted him back:

Hey, I'm fine. Sorry for worrying you and taking so long to reply. Talk to you tomorrow?

I returned to the bedroom quite nervously. Damian was in the same position, watching the movie with a neutral expression. His mind seemed far away though, completely uninvolved in the film.

"Everything okay?" he asked me.

I pondered whether I should sit back on the bed and tell him to continue or not. What if he confessed his love to me? The mere idea scared and excited me at the same time.

Wait. Was I in love with Damian Belfort?

 The prospect was terrifying: my best friend and I, in love with the same guy. She admitted her feelings, but what about me? Could I do that to her? I was once again, torn between doing what was best for my best friend and doing what was best for me. I wasn't certain about my feelings for Damian. And if I was truly in love with him, could I tell him that? My head started to spin from the swarm of thoughts and emotions that ravaged me. 

Good Lord.

"I need a shower." I voiced my thoughts out loud, making him smile whimsically. "I'll try to wash the wine off my dress afterwards."

"Okay." he nodded, motioning to the top drawer of the wardrobe. "There are towels there."

***

The shower wasn't as relaxing as I thought it'd be, but at least I managed to clear my head for fifteen minutes. I sponged the stained fabric of my dress in hot water and scrubbed it with soap, and luckily, the stain faded, but not entirely. I placed it on the radiator to dry and opened the door of the bathroom hesitantly, only having a towel wrapped around me. Despite my efforts of not wetting my hair, it was damp. 

The tray of food was gone; Damian must have called the receptionist and asked them to take it away. I stepped into the bedroom; it was empty, but I spotted his lissome figure by the window in the dim dining room. He was looking through it with a relaxed stance, his hands gripping the windowsill and his body inclined towards it.

"Damian?" I called out with a sheepish tone. "Can I ask something of you?"

He straightened his back and strode to me elegantly. I reigned the urge to roll my eyes. Why did I have to like everything about him? Why did everything about him seem so effortless, yet so perfect, from the way the white shirt fit his slim body and his luxurious hair caught every glint of light? His eyes scanned my body subtly, but he quickly shifted his gaze towards my face.

"Of course."

"Can you please give me your shirt? I just...don't want to sleep only in my underwear." I blurted the last part nervously.

He didn't say anything. He slid his arms out of the dinner jacket and tossed it on the bed. His eyes glazed through mine as he started to unbutton his shirt slowly, with controlled movements, revealing his slim torso. My gaze lowered down to his chest automatically, and I almost could see my cheeks flushing to a rosy blush. His abdominal muscles were very lean, only slightly defined. He looked sculpted from marble, with his translucent skin and fine lines. Before he could catch me staring, I extended my hand out for the shirt. I took it and clutched it to my chest, his enticing perfume almost sweeping me off my feet.

"Turn around and don't peek." I warned him in a playful tone.

"I can't promise anything." he smirked, and my sight trailed to his chest one more time before he pivoted on his heels and leant his shoulder against the doorframe.

Don't stare, don't stare, I kept reminding myself as I admired his back. I dropped the towel on the bed and put his shirt on, buttoning it as fast as I could with trembling hands. His fragrance engulfed me; it was as if his arms were around me, capturing me into a perpetual embrace. Luckily, the shirt was long enough to cover my butt, but it showed off my bare legs. I put the towel around the back of a chair and quickly slid under the warmth of the covers, snuggling into them. I felt my eyelids getting heavier and I stifled a yawn.

"You can turn around now." I informed him. "What hour is it?"

"A quarter to three. Are you sleepy?" he asked, watching me with a smile.

"A little bit." I admitted.

Silence wafted in the air, and his lips parted, as if he meant to say something. But he changed his mind, and uttered instead:

"All right. I'll be in the living room if you need me. Sleep tight, Rosabel."

"You too."

It felt like something lacked; like I was expecting him to do something and he was expecting the same from me. But neither of us did anything. He turned the lights off and I heard his light steps as he headed to the living room.

Fifteen minutes of stillness passed, and then another ten; yet I couldn't find my peace or stop my mind from going to countless places. I was slightly cold, and the only sound I could hear was the raindrops smashing the window. I tossed and turned, trying to find a relaxing position. I wondered if I should ask Damian if he was asleep or not. Was the couch comfortable, at least? I brought the collar of the shirt to my nose, inhaling his perfume.

"White night?" his voice reverberated in the room, and based on its clarity and sound, he was most likely close to me. I jumped slightly and opened my eyes, discerning his lithe figure by the bed in the dark.

"You ought to stop doing this. I'm going to have a heart attack one day." I uttered, placing my hand on my chest emphatically. "Why are you awake?"

"Why are you ?"

"I couldn't sleep. It's cold and I just..." I pressed my palms on the mattress and pushed myself to a seated position. "I think it's unfair that you're the one sleeping on the couch. You paid for the suite, after all. Do you want to...?" I asked suggestively, motioning to the bed.

"Do I want to what?" he teased me, and although I couldn't see his features clearly, I bet he had the biggest smirk on his face.

"Oh, come on. You know what. I'm not going to ask you twice."

He chuckled, getting around the bed. He lay softly on it under the covers, and I placed my head back on the pillow, turning towards him. We made eye contact, prolonged and intimate, and then he broke the silence:

"Are you still cold?"

My heart pounded in my chest and something clicked inside me, a militia of chills running down my spine. I daren't move or speak, so I just nodded in confirmation. He moved closer to me, his arm encircling my waist into a gentle but firm embrace. I inched closer as well, burying my face in the soft spot of his neck and wrapping my arm around his naked torso. I could feel the heat his body emanated against mine, the regular rise of his chest and his warm breath upon my head. I had never felt more at ease, more protected, more cherished. Suddenly, I wished the night would never end, and we'd hold each other like that for ages and aeons. He brushed a strand of hair from my face and whispered:

"Good night."

I could get used to this. Our breathing in unison, our bodies moulded against each other; and at that moment, I felt that we were infinite. Because it wasn't our bodies that were united, it was our souls.