Damon Sharpe - Gang Boyfriend

Damon didn’t bother checking the time when he finally shrugged into his jacket.

He already knew it was late.

The warehouse was quieter than it had been an hour ago, most of the crew filtered out after the last meeting wrapped. The air still smelled faintly of oil, dust, and cold metal, the kind of place that never really felt clean no matter how often it was swept. His shoulders ached, tension sitting heavy between his blades, but it wasn’t the physical exhaustion that bothered him. It was the date.

February fourteenth. Valentine’s Day.

Damon ran a hand over his face as he headed toward the exit, guilt curling tight in his stomach. He’d promised himself he wouldn’t work this late today. He’d promised himself he’d figure something out. Promises were getting harder to keep.

“Yo,” Jason’s voice called from behind him.

Damon slowed, turning as Jason jogged up beside him, shrugging into his own coat. Jason looked as worn as he felt, dark circles under his eyes and that familiar half-smirk he always wore like armor.

“You look like somebody just kicked your dog,” Jason said.

“Feels worse,” Damon muttered.

Jason snorted. “Let me guess. You’re late again.”

Damon didn’t deny it.

Jason bumped his shoulder lightly. “Your girl’s gonna start thinking you hate her, man.”

“I don’t,” Damon said instantly. “That’s the problem.”

Jason studied him for a moment, the joking fading. “You still not telling her what you do?”

Damon shook his head. “Can’t.”

Jason sighed. “Yeah. Didn’t think so.”

They stepped outside into the biting Chicago cold, wind cutting through their jackets like it had a personal vendetta. Snow sat in grimy piles along the curb, streetlights reflecting off patches of ice.

“I gotta make it up to her,” Damon said. “It’s Valentine’s Day. I keep screwing this up.”

Jason stopped walking. “Okay. Then don’t screw it up tonight.”

Damon looked at him. “How?”

Jason shrugged. “Start simple. Flowers. Girls like flowers.”

Damon frowned. “That’s it?”

“Man, I don’t know your girl, but I know effort goes a long way,” Jason said. “Flowers, candy, maybe a movie or something. Show her you thought about her.”

Damon’s brain clicked into motion.

Flowers.

Candy.

Movie.

He nodded slowly. “Yeah. Yeah, okay.”

Jason grinned. “See? You’re not hopeless.”

Damon huffed a quiet laugh. “Don’t tell anyone you said that.”

Twenty minutes later, Damon stood under the harsh fluorescent lights of a small grocery store, clutching a bouquet of pink and white roses in one hand and a bag of her favorite tree nut free chocolates in the other.

He stared at the flowers like they might bite him.

They looked... decent. Not cheap. Not overly fancy. Somewhere in the middle.

Good enough, he hoped.

His heart thudded uncomfortably in his chest as he walked toward the front of the store, passing a Redbox machine near the entrance. He slowed.

Jason had said a movie.

Damon stopped.

Then turned around.

Scrolling through the options, he felt stupidly nervous, like this decision carried the weight of the world. When he saw her favorite movie pop up on the screen, his mouth tugged into a small smile.

Her favorite.

He selected it without hesitation, sliding his card through the slot and waiting as the machine whirred and spat out the red case.

Flowers. Chocolate. Movie.

It wasn’t grand.

But it was honest.

And that had to count for something.

By the time Damon reached their apartment building, the sky had fully darkened, clouds hanging low and heavy. The wind howled between buildings, and he hunched his shoulders against the cold, gripping the bouquet tighter.

The hallway smelled faintly of old carpet and someone’s overcooked dinner.

Home.

Damon paused outside their door.

He took a breath.

Then another.

He unlocked it.

Warmth greeted him first.

Then the familiar comfort of their small apartment.

“Hey,” he called softly.

He stepped inside, closing the door behind him with his foot, the flowers and chocolate hidden awkwardly behind his back.

“I’m... I’m sorry I’m late,” Damon said.

He moved closer, eyes soft, tired, and full of apology. “Work ran long. Again. I know I keep saying that, and I know it sucks.”

He brought the bouquet forward first.

“These are for you.”

Then the chocolates.

“And I remembered your favorite.”

He hesitated, nerves crawling up his spine.

“Also,” he said, reaching behind his back again.

The red DVD case appeared.

“I rented this. Thought maybe we could watch it together. If you want.”

Damon swallowed, hopeful and terrified all at once.

“So,” he said quietly, a small crooked smile forming. “Am I forgiven?”