Zayn's apartment was on the third floor of a quiet brick building three blocks from the high school track. Damian followed him up the narrow stairwell in silence, Zayn's hoodie still draped over his shoulders. Every step pulled at his ribs, but he kept his face blank. He didn't want pity. Not tonight.
Zayn unlocked the door and flicked on the light. He entered the house, and Damian followed slowly.
Damian stopped at the door, clearly surprised at how neat and organised everything was. He'd expected chaos, empty takeout boxes, gym clothes everywhere, the usual teenage-boy mess. Instead the apartment was clean, almost serene. Warm hardwood floors, a low gray couch facing a small TV, bookshelves lined with running memoirs and a few worn novels. A single potted plant sat on the windowsill, green and thriving.
Zayn kicked off his shoes by the door and glanced back. "You can leave yours on if you want. Or take 'em off. Whatever."
