Theodore stood there for a moment longer. The silence stretched, but it was broken by the clattering noise of the workers in the distance. He let out a slow breath through his nose, his expression settling into something unreadable. Theodore let his gaze wander.
He didn't mean to be nosy, not really—but the constant movement, the endless scraping and hammering, made it impossible to ignore. And then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw one of the workers pause near the base of the staircase. The man crouched, notepad in hand, pencil scribbling furiously as he eyed the wall and jotted something down.
Curiosity tugged at Theodore like a thread.
He walked away from his spot near the door without a word and strolled over, slow and quiet, arms still folded as if to make it clear he wasn't actually interested. Just... wandering.
The worker didn't notice him at first, too focused on his sketch. But when Theodore leaned just a little to the side, his eyes caught a glimpse of the notepad.
Schematics. Reinforcements. Wall restructuring. Panic room access? Emergency routes?
His brow arched.
Of course. This was just like Damian—grand gestures, half-explained plans, throwing money and resources at something only he seemed to understand. A fortress now? He rolled his eyes and shook his head, lips tightening into a thin line.
He'd seen it before. When Damian got an idea in his head, the rest of the world blurred out. This wasn't a security upgrade. It was obsession. And like all of Damian's obsessions, it would pass. He knew this all too well. After all, he was Damian's first obsession.
Theodore walked further into the villa, passing by workers carrying steel panels and boxes of equipment without giving them more than a glance. His hand trailed along the wall absentmindedly as he moved, his mind already compartmentalizing everything he'd seen.
When he reached the lounge, he dropped his keys on the side table with a quiet clink and flopped down onto the couch like he owned the space—which, technically, he still did, not until the divorce.
His phone buzzed. A message from his student. He responded quickly, then let it fall to his chest as he closed his eyes for a brief moment. The muffled banging of construction outside kept breaking through the silence, but he forced himself to tune it out.
Theodore had long stopped trying to understand Damian. These days, it was easier to let him run wild and keep his distance. If Damian thought a fortified villa was the key to redemption, then he could knock himself out.
As far as Theodore was concerned, this was just one more thing he'd eventually walk away from.
And when that time came, Theodore would already be halfway out the door. Theodore closed his eyes.
_______
The sunlight had started to dip just enough to cast long, golden shadows across the villa floor, washing everything in that late-afternoon stillness. Theodore remained sprawled across the couch, unmoved, his eyes fluttering open only when the sounds of footsteps thumped nearby.
Voices murmured outside the lounge, two of the workers coordinating something about materials and then faded again.
The quiet didn't last long.
Footsteps approached, familiar ones.
Damian.
Theodore didn't move. Not even a flicker of acknowledgment as the sound drew closer.
Damian entered the room, pausing just inside the doorway. His shirt sleeves were rolled up, a few specks of dust clinging to the dark fabric like he'd been down there overseeing something himself.
"You're back earlier than I expected," Damian said, voice calm.
"Traffic was light," Theodore replied flatly, still not sparing him a glance.
A beat of silence.
Damian stepped further in, Theodore could feel his gaze lingering.
"I trust the construction didn't inconvenience you too much," Damian hummed, tone casual.
Theodore opened his eyes slowly and met his gaze for the first time. "Is that what this is?" he said, his voice low, edged. "Construction?"
Damian didn't flinch. "It's... renovation."
Theodore tilted his head, lips curling into something between a smirk and a scoff. "Right. And I suppose the reinforced walls, the sealed ventilation systems, and the panic room are part of your new minimalist aesthetic?"
Damian didn't respond immediately. His jaw tensed, barely noticeable. But Theodore caught it. He always did.
Instead of answering, Damian shifted the subject. "I've had the blueprints ready for months. Just needed the right time to start."
"Mhm," Theodore hummed, noncommittal. He sat up a bit, brushing invisible lint from his shirt, then leveled Damian with a stare. "You always did have a flair for timing."
Damian took a slow breath, like he was trying not to say something he'd regret. Theodore saw that too and somehow, it made him angrier.
"I'm just trying to make this place safe," Damian finally said.
Theodore let that sit in the air between them for a moment before he gave a soft, humorless laugh. "Safe from what, Damian? A home invasion? Bad press?"
Damian's gaze sharpened. "It doesn't matter."
"Doesn't it?" Theodore challenged, though his voice remained cool. "Because it looks like you're preparing for a siege."
Damian looked away for a moment, something flickering in his expression.
"You'll understand eventually." he said, almost too quiet.
"Don't hold your breath." Theodore retorted.
Damian lingered a moment longer, standing there like he wanted to say more—but the words stayed buried. It wasn't the first time he came to terms with this version of Theodore. Cool, closed off, always one step away from slipping through his fingers. There was a time when a look from him would unravel him. Now... he wasn't even sure his voice could reach him. But who's fault was that?
Damian grit his teeth.
"I'll be in the west wing," Damian said quietly.
No answer.
He turned and walked out, his steps soft against the polished floorboards, and the moment he vanished around the corner, Theodore let out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding. It was shaky. Frustrated. Heavy.
He sat up.
His fingers brushed the back of his neck, trying to massage away a tension that had settled hours ago, right when he walked through that door and saw the place swarmed with workers. It was as if Damian was preparing for something but didn't bother to explain.
Because he never did.
Theodore stood, pacing slowly. He walked toward the tall windows overlooking the eastern courtyard. Down below, workers were still unloading materials—metal rods, reinforced glass, crates labeled in a language he didn't recognize. It was beyond home security. "Renovation huh?" He whispered underneath his breath.
It looked like he was warproofing.
And that scared him a little, though he'd never admit it aloud.
Because even if he pretended not to care, he knew Damian wasn't the type to do things without reason. So what the hell did Damian know that he didn't?