Hey, you're that guy

Damon thought Mike had understood at least half of what he'd rambled, so after repeating it all only once, he said his goodbyes, 'stay safe's, and left satisfied that everything probably wouldn't go wrong. He tried not to dwell on it enough to jinx it, though.

If the nightmare had forgotten it was the day after christmas, the wandering drunks and wilting decorations outside reminded him. He made a face. Gross. Everything was kinda sad, and he preferred that in more focused doses rather than… all over, like a big trainwreck. It was probably better in the richer, cleaner parts of the city, but he was the underground's next door neighbor.

Damon breathed in icy air and cigarette smoke, letting it ground him, and trudged through the snow. It almost came up to his knees. The stuff had been coming down nonstop this month, and down here, everyone put off clearing it up for as long as possible. He didn't really blame them, seeing how miserable things were. That's why he'd gone to a fucking party, not stayed home to think about how he wasn't around for his daughter's first christmas.

Shit. Whatever.

The cheap grocery store, around three blocks from his apartment building, didn't usually take all that long to get to- but the snow, as well as the grogginess and awkwardness in Damon's head, made the trip longer.

He shuffled in, weather threatening to follow him, and the sole worker at the counter immediately shot him a glare- before realizing who exactly the customer was, and avoiding any further eye contact. While he'd usually tease a reaction like that, the nightmare accepted being left alone as a blessing that day.

He lately realized he really should've asked what Mike wanted to eat. Aw, fuck. He could call the house phone, sure, but it felt silly that he was the one in trouble rather than the other way around. He didn't want to strain his houseguest with stupid shit, either…

Okay, well. He guessed he was stocking up on everything, then. He got himself a cart.


He should've attempted driving again, because now he was carrying like, three full bags of stuff in each hand. And he could handle that, but he wasn't sure the shitty plastic could, so it was like a race against time. He'd jumped more than walked through the snow on the way back, and was now setting down the bags in one hand so he could screw around with his keys.

The heat from the apartment started threatening to pour out the instant he got it open, so Damon hurried to pick his stuff back up, shove the door back shut with his elbow, and get to the kitchen. Man, he felt more busy than he had in a while. Busy as a person, that is- work took up plenty of his time, but it wasn't the same thing.

He knew he wasn't a person, but still. This wasn't too bad.

Damon saw Mike at the kitchen table, chirping out a hi before going back to fussing with groceries, distractible with his new project. He set things out on the countertops as well as stuffing them into cupboards and the fridge, chattering a bit as he did.

"So I kinda forgot to uh, ask you what exactly you wanted to eat, right? And I mean, I needed an excuse to buy all this shit anyway, so, I did. All of it. Did you know that cooking classes were like, my extra thing back in highschool? Food is great! Request anything, I'll give it a shot-"

Damon turned, huge sunny grin on his face, and… finally caught on. He blinked, expression wavering. "Woah. What's up? Something happen? You okay?" He peered at the other, concern plainly written on his face, everything likely far too earnest.

Being busy definitely helped Damon both not get flustered at the hot guy in the towel (fuck, he cleaned up nicely- of course he did), and not laugh at the ridiculousness of being helped out by him in that state.

Mike seemed to be doing better already, though, maybe perking up a bit with the coffee? Whatever it was, Damon was really glad.

Pants were on the next time the nightmare glanced over, too, serving as both a relief and a disappointment. Incredible.

"Hey, I can relate, but definitely slow it down to the excitement level of juice for now," Damon said, with a little cringe. "Christ, bein' human can be awful sometimes, huh?" He didn't think he envied things like this, and yet, his family accused him of wanting to be 'one of them' practically every time they saw him. It gave him a bad prickling feeling in his chest, and he didn't know why.

Damon moved over to squint at the fridge too, and shrugged. "Sure, why not both? If you end up not wanting to eat somethin', I'll eat it for you."

He paused, facing Mike and tilting his head. "I can see it, yeah- hey, wait a second." He made a mock offended face. "I might not be a flawless pretty boy like you, really more a monster that kinda freaks most people out, but I have my charms!" As though to express this, he fluffed his permanent bedhead hair then posed, one hand behind his head, the other on his hip.

He broke down into giggles and lost the attempt at a stereotypical sexy pose about five seconds later.

He shook his head, and started to sort through the foodstuff. Several things, he quietly put back and replaced, but he appreciated the effort on Mike's part. "You don't have to do anythin', y'know. I'm fine on my own, and it's no real trouble since I enjoy doing things with my hands. Thank you, though. If you'd like to learn a thing or two, you can still watch what I'm doing- or just sit back down. Whatever works."

He almost added that they could still talk, since he was good at multitasking, but didn't. Having him speaking casually like this, not laced with malice or panic, was um. Really pleasant. Damon started fixing up the requested food with a new, pleased buzz in his system.

"Nah, I don't really want to brag about it, but immortality is totally a thing," Damon hummed. "I'm aging right now, but that's 'cause. I dunno, it's fun, I adapted into it and a whole bunch of other stuff. Like eating and sleeping. My species isn't supposed to do any of that stuff, can you believe? Ridiculous. Imagining my life without food and sleeping in now is so, ew. I don't have to do it for survival, but fuck, you feel me?"

And oh. He knew that was. A joke, but um, huh. He wouldn't really mind if Mike was seduced, so… he kept that to himself, though. "You'll look fine," the nightmare said, adding to the previous thought and rolling his eyes. "Better than fine, probably. I would put money on it, even."

Damon was good at multitasking. He really was. But Mike's remarks were making him bite his lip and tremble a bit, intensely amused. He was so glad this person wasn't dead, that he'd been stubborn and taken him back here, that somehow he managed to push to the point that he'd gotten through to this.

He took a break, letting things cook, and leaned against the counter. He crossed his arms and stared. "When did you get this fucking funny, Mike? Are you trying to get me to lose it and ruin your meal in the process? Is that it? I refuse, I'm making you some good junky food, and you're going to be super into it, got that? How dare you mock my important mission with your ketchup microphone."

Damon smiled like an idiot through every word he'd spoken. He took the ketchup and turned it around. "You're clearly holding it wrong, is what I'm saying. Did you just get your job by being cute and cheeky, rather than a dedicated, um, food reality show narrator?"

"Yeah, I've heard that kind of thing before," Damon puffed out his cheeks a bit, nearing a genuine pout. "I may not have gone to college- due to wanting to go straight to police academy instead, FYI- but we did get like, the same grades when we were in school together, did you know that? Anyway. I guess that's weirdly accurate here, then."

The nightmare just raised an eyebrow when Mike started back up again, trying to look unimpressed when he was really just, full on the opposite, absolutely delighted. He opened his mouth, ready to retort, then blinked. Tone changed. Erm. Wow, thanks for dropping that on him, how should he. That was narcissism (reasonable narcissism) speaking, not flirting, but- though, what if-

"Aw fuck, shouldn't leave the food alone for this long, hold on." He spun back, messing around and making sure various things were in order, a distraction from the squirming in his stomach. He was probably all too hopeful, and mistaking more teasing for something else.

He ate a french fry after taking them out of the oven (other food still needing more time), thoughtfully, while warmth lingered in his face. He got them onto a plate to share, walked back over to Mike, and made a nice ketchup lake for dipping. He munched a few more, leaned his chin in a palm, and eyed the other man.

"I'm just going to ask. Are you straight, or? Uh, sorry, don't have to answer that, just like." He squinted. Waved a french fry expressively. Sighed. "Yeah, I think you're cute. Feel free to... pretend I didn't answer that question seriously, if you want. 'Cause the line between banter and flirting really is thin sometimes, to the point where if it just slipped more in one direction... well, it wouldn't have to be a big deal, if that wasn't a mutually desired thing. You get what I'm sayin'?"

"It's not like I could tell you were hot until I'd saved you," Damon defended, huffing. "My purposes were perfectly noble and respectable, thank you very much. I am a cop- and not to mention? There are better ways to get laid than waiting for your dream boy to fall in the trash and need to get fished out. Ridiculous."

He grumbled a bit, ate more fries, and sighed. "I meaaan. Definitely did notice you were pretty, after the initial rescuing… attractive garbage man, who I found in the trash, ugh…"

Oh. He was nickname tier too, now. He tried not to choke on his french fry, then coughed and moved on to… other things, that actually inspired the same reaction? God damn it. He was a mix between flustered and amused again, snickering and grinning without even thinking about it.

"I guess I thought… dunno, probably should stop with the assumption thing. You're weird, Mike, I like you. Thought I'd be all considerate, try not to freak you out with random flirting if I was misinterpreting things, but uh. Okay."

And then, he promptly made a face. "Hey, didn't you literally just tell me to lighten up? Mixed signals, bud." He made a soft growl, though, awkward again as things went on. "Shit, is that why you looked super uncomfortable when I got back? Aw man… Those aren't fun to listen to, m'sorry, no wonder."

He scratched at the back of his neck. "Um, how do I… you know what? Everything I've done, for months now, has been thought of as 'inappropriate'. Can't really be helped. I tried but uh, yeah. Yeah. Not in my nature to not be… everything that I am."

He finally quieted, too, even if only for a moment. Shrugged. "Distractions are pretty nice. You're really cute. I don't want this to be weird, it doesn't feel like it has to be, y'know? Am I wrong?"

He stood and smiled. "Anyway! Sometimes things fuckin' suck, and not in the fun way- which is totally preferable if it's an option, come on. You know what else is fantastic? Food. Which we have. I feel blessed, or whatever. Good times."

He went over to get the chicken and burgers prepared, then took them back over to Mike again, ready for more communal use of the ketchup pool. He waited, expectant, for the other man to eat first, eyes big and hopeful. It seemed like the fries were approved, so.