"What's the problem now?" he asked, already scanning the diagrams splayed out on a tablet.
"Sensor grid's pulling too much power from the west sector. We're rerouting but it's slowing down..-"
"Forget it." Damian interrupted calmly. "The perimeter sensors aren't vital enough. If they're causing problems, tear the system out."
Ramirez blinked. "Sir." He thought for a moment before turning to the two engineers, "You heard the boss!" He yelled loudly. The engineers nodded silently, starting to disassemble the node relay box. Damian turned away, walking to the courtyard. The low afternoon sun shone down the villa, casting a red glow. He stood in the courtyard for a few more hours, observing the construction. The slight vibration of his phone in his pocket awoke him from his focused observation.
He decided to check his phone, turning it on. His eyebrows furrowed---Tons of messages. His thumb glided over the unread messages, he paused on one specific message. Oh right. His family. Damian has only focused on the impending apocalypse ever since his rebirth, his family was the last thing on his mind. Thinking of the outcome of the La Cosa Industry in his past life, his expression darkened.
As the only child, he never had to fight for the company inheritance. No rivals, no threats, no need to prove himself. His jaw tightened. He loathed the person he used to be. The apocalypse had forged him, struck him hard and without mercy, like a blacksmith hammering raw steel. Looking back now, all he saw was a fool—soft, entitled, blind.
He pressed the unread message, directing him immediately to the chatbox. The nickname set for the contact made him raise an eyebrow. Old Hag.
"What are you doing? Your father is enraged. Come home now."
Damian's thumbs glided over the screen as he typed up a response.
"Got it."
I was planning to speak with my father anyway. Informing him about the impending apocalypse could be crucial. Although the papers list me as CEO, the truth is, I'm not the one doing the work. My past self had someone else handle it all. My father still has his old connections and backers—connections that despise me for my incompetence. The real problem lies in whether or not he'll believe me.
He made his way toward the villa, slipping off his boots as he reached the front door. His stomach growled as he headed straight for the kitchen, opening the fridge in search of something to eat. But it was nearly empty—well, not completely empty, but there was nothing he could cook. A wave of longing hit him as he thought of Theodore's cooking. Then it clicked. He was supposed to hire a chef to handle this for him.
Damian let out a soft, exasperated sigh as he closed the fridge door. He had let the thought slip, buried under the thousand other thoughts. There was so much to manage now, yet something as simple as food had slipped his mind.
He rubbed his forehead, the usual ache creeping in. A soft, distant memory of Theodore in the kitchen, humming as he worked, filled his thoughts. The smell of a home-cooked meal, the comfort of knowing someone cared enough to make it. Damian missed those moments more than he'd like to admit. It was a reminder of a life he had destroyed and was now trying to rebuild—piece by piece, as if there were any pieces left to rebuild at all.
Was there?
A thought flickered through his mind. Theodore would still be working during this time of the day. With a renewed sense of resolve, Damian unlocked his phone, his fingers quickly searching for a recipe on a search engine. He couldn't find anything he could cook, so he turned off his phone, frustrated, he opened the fridge again. Hoping for some revelation.
Damian stared at the empty fridge, a sense of discomfort settling in his chest. The kitchen, cold and silent, felt unfamiliar to him. His thoughts drifted to Theodore. He could only remember the Theodore that he knew before they fell apart. The things Theodore liked now? He didn't know a shred of it. And he hated it. Since his rebirth, all he's been tending to is the impending apocalypse, its crucial, but he wishes there was more time.. time to get to know Theodore again.
During the apocalypse, Damian had learned to eat anything he could find—whatever scraps were left behind, however unappetizing or questionable. In those days, survival was all that mattered, and he had long stopped caring about the taste or the quality of the food. It was sustenance, nothing more. And now, in his rebirth, with no one to cook for him, he found himself doing the same. The kitchen now felt like an intimidating space. But he was determined. If this small thing was all he could offer, it would have to be enough. He gathered the ingredients—pasta, garlic, olive oil, a forgotten lemon at the back of the fridge and began preparing the dish.
As the pasta boiled, he tried to recall what it had been like, back then, when he was cooking, how Damian would wait patiently as he stared at Theodore's back. How Theodore would laugh when things went wrong, how they would tease each other over the simplest of things. It had been so long since he thought about those little moments. The Theodore he remembered liked this dish--he couldn't say whether he still would, but the memory was enough.
When everything was finally plated, the pasta looked nothing like the ones Theodore used to make, but it was all Damian could manage. He had forgotten the small touches, the way Theodore would drizzle a little extra olive oil at the end. It wasn't right, not really. The garlic was too charred, the pasta a little overcooked, but Damian didn't care. He picked up his fork and took a bite.
The taste wasn't perfect, but it was close enough to the past to make his chest tighten. The faintest echo of the old Theodore lingered in the meal, a memory that felt both distant and near. The taste was more than just the food, it was the warmth, the comfort of a life he used to have, and the realization that, no matter how many years had passed, no matter how far apart they had grown, a part of that life still lived within him.
He closed his eyes for a moment, letting the food sit in his mouth, savoring it even though it wasn't quite right. Maybe this wasn't the dish Theodore would still love. Maybe Theodore would have preferred something else now. But in this moment, in this small attempt to piece together something from the past, it was enough.