A/N: just watched a few Victorious episodes and got inspired. Sigh.
Thank you so much for reading loves. We're almost done :)

———

"Hey Diadem," Damon says as soon as I pick the call in a not so eager fashion because I'm cool. "What are you going to do today?"

I hum with a smile. "Uh. Fast?"

His chuckle makes me feel warm inside. "Well. How do you feel about accompanying me to do some charity work?"

Of course, boy, do you even need to ask? "I feel burdened but oh well. It's the price I must pay for having such a kind heart that can't turn down charity. But I have prayers by noon so..."

"Uh-huh. It's going to be a quick trip. It's eight o'clock right now, you'll be back home before noon, trust me," he sounds like he's rolling his eyes. "And by charity, you also mean Damon Valentine, right?"

"No," I defend my whipped lil old heart by quickly changing the subject. "Where should I meet you?"

He's silent for a moment. "The hobo lamp post."

I gulp.

———

Okay, sometimes, I can be a pretty crappy person. Sometimes, I ignore texts. I get into spats which mainly end with me being victorious. And also, I apparently forget to say hi to my little army of bodyguards.

I'm a reallyyyyyyyyy crappy person.

I take a deep breath as I turn the corner. I can see Damon standing a very good distance away from the hobo lamp post. The hobos are silent and just...sitting. Thinking about whatever hobos normally think of.

Well. Bailing doesn't seem like a bad idea...

"Diadem!" Damon's voice snaps me back to reality. "Heyyyyy!"

...and there goes the plan.

I fake a smile and make my way towards him. He's lucky I actually like his smile. It's doing wonders for my anger, which is practically nonexistent at this point.

"Hey Damon," I can't help but return his smile when I'm close enough to him. "Happy New Month! We're in July."

His lips part. He looks a bit shocked that I'm wishing something like this to him but I'm glad about the new month. Really. It's just like a New Year, just shorter and less celebrated.

"...You too Diadem," he finally says. He runs his fingers through his hair. "Oh. And Juma'at Mubarak."

Happy Friday. He's wishing me a happy Friday.

I try not to smile like a lunatic. "...Thank you."

———

The hobos give us blank looks as we stand in front of them. Apparently, Damon has decided to give out some of his clothes and who better than the men who chased away Blond Douche's steroid inhaling bodyguard?

I swear, I'm seeing Armani.

...I can't believe I'm currently jealous of hobos.

"Hey!" Damon hauls a sack and I clutch the other one tightly because come on, I'm sure Calvin Klein must be swimming inside happily. "I brought stuff for you guys."

My throat itches. I force myself to smile and speak. "Yeah!"

Damon gives me a weird look. I ignore it. He looks away and faces the frowning group of hobos. "Anyhow, we're here to show our appreciation. You guys helped us out the other day and we're just really thankful. We're sorry that we didn't do this sooner."

I'm very aware of the battalion of eyes that swivel to stare at me. I gulp internally, but externally, I'm as cool as a cucumber.

"Yep," I smile and it finally feels sincere. "We're sorry. Please accept this token of our appreciation."

Kappa stares at me for a moment before smiling. I should buy him something. You know. For helping me out with Kenneth and his Maltesers. "Anytime."

Murmurs of thanks and you're welcome fill the void in my heart. I turn to give Damon a look. I use telepathy to convey my message.

Thanks, Steroid Pillow.

What for?

For letting me share this little token with you. I brought nothing for them. I practically leeched off the Armani. Literally.

Just coming here at nine in the morning to help give them stuff is something. Don't underestimate your heart, Diadem.

He averts his gaze from mine with a shy smile but I just can't look away.

He's right. I shouldn't underestimate my heart.

I mean, even I didn't know my heart could hold so much love for this boy with the Hufflepuff like soul.

———

Damon and I decide to take a little stroll around the neighborhood. The sun is out but it isn't scorching. My shoulders feel lighter than usual (must be the designer clothing effect) and Damon looks like someone who could act the part of Apollo in a high budget Percy Jackson movie comeback.

"What song describes your life?" Philosophical Damon asks me as we stand in front of Yomart. People pass us by to get into the store and yeah, I should still be in bed but time with Damon sort of beats dreamland.

I really should work on being a little less cheesy. He must be rubbing off on me.

"Heathens," I answer after a moment. He guffaws as I smile. "All my friends are heathens."

"Well, I feel delighted," Damon shrugs, "I'm not just your friend."

"You haven't gotten the guts to ask me out again so calm yourself down. You're my friend," I laugh. He imitates being dramatically shot down.

"Wow. People were right. The friend zone really is a dark, evil place."

"Apparently perfect for heathens like you, friend."

He chuckles and his eyes crinkle at the edges in a very adorable fashion. "Fine. Then what song do you think describes our relationship?"

"I'm not exactly an encyclopedia of songs," I shrug and move out of the way to narrowly avoid a shoved shoulder from a middle-aged man. "I mean...maybe a One Direction song? Or something."

Damon laughs. "Or something," he repeats with a shake of his head. He sobers up. "Do you know the song, If Eyes Could Speak? It's by Devon Wein...damn, I've forgotten his last name."

I furrow my eyebrows. "No...?"

"Okay then," he clears his throat and walks a bit farther from me. He motions for me to stay in place. "I'm not the best singer around but here goes!"

I laugh and make hand motions to stop him from disgracing himself. People are already giving us looks like we're crazy but Damon doesn't really seem to care.

"Hey! My name is Damon Valentine and I'm here to educate a certain girl," he points straight at me and my cheeks practically burn. "On how our relationship is. Through a few lyrics of a song. I'm not creative enough to think of my own."

A few people actually laugh. I bury my face into my palms. "Damon..."

He doesn't acknowledge my silent plea. He just smiles at me. I'm very aware of the small crowd that's slowly coming towards us.

"If eyes could speak, one look would say everything," he sings in a croak of a voice. I almost wince because his singing voice really is terrible. "About the way you smile, the way you laugh. The way you dress. The way your beauty leaves me breathless."

The crowd makes cooing sounds and aw's. My heart is beating rapidly on the other hand. Damon stares at me before continuing with his impromptu concert.

"If eyes could speak..." he lets his note hang in the air. An imaginary cat nearby screeches because of the horrible pitch but no one pays it any mind because...it's a fiction of my imagination, "I wouldn't have to talk."

Cheers erupt in a frenzy. Damon smiles at me once again and I can't help but laugh. It's not helping that tears are also falling from my eyes. I just hope my mascara isn't running right now.

Why is he so...himself?

I walk towards him, destroying the gap between us. I look up at his hopeful face and roll my eyes but the smile on my face must be betraying me.

"I guess I'm going to have to download the song to get your horrible version out of my head."

Damon chuckles. "You know you want to do something dramatic like hug me."

Oh yeah. I really do.

So I do it.

———

Damon and I finally manage to wiggle ourselves away from the curious audience/fans. Apparently, a few ten-year-olds were part of the crowd and now want to make a Pamon fan club.

I prefer Dalina better but obviously, the ten-year-old girls prefer Damon's choice. Of course.

What are ten-year-olds doing at Yomart when it's barely eleven in the morning? Don't kids their age value sleep anymore?

I look at the time on my phone. "It's almost eleven o'clock. Gotta go."

Damon sighs loudly. "Off to pray?"

"Yeah," I give him a small smile, "Maybe you can wait for me at my house? I'll be back soon enough. Then, yeah, we can continue this very eventful day."

"Can't," he sounds apologetic, "I've got a chemotherapy session I can't miss."

A pang hits me in the chest as I remember Aubrey. So my thoughts weren't so far off. "How is Aubrey doing? With the whole chemotherapy thing?"

Damon cocks his head to the side like he's confused. It's a bit distracting but I focus on more serious matters like Aubrey's state of health as I wait for his reply.

"Mom? Oh, she's been a bit more protective and stuff. Making me eat more organic stuff and all. It's a wonder how she's even letting me out of the house."

I blink. "Why wouldn't she let you out of the house? I mean... I know she isn't feeling so good but—"

"She?"

"Well yeah. She told me—"

Damon chuckles but it lacks humor. "I knew it. She didn't tell you, did she?"

I feel so clueless; more so than any clueless human being. I mean, I was just about to tell him what she told me and he's saying she didn't tell me... I'm not good with reverse psychology. "...Tell me what?"

"I knew something was up when you never brought it up after you guys spoke," Damon sounds pained, "She told you she was the one with cancer, right?"

"...No," I shake my head, "But she dropped some clues. She didn't outright tell me but based on what she said, it was easy to connect the dots..."

Damon closes his eyes like he's having a very bad day. "Paulina. I'm a coward. I never had the courage to tell you so I told my mom to do it for me and I guess she didn't have the courage to do it too and I thought it'd be obvious with the way I randomly quit my job and stuff but—"

"Damon," I grasp his arm firmly because I'm a bit scared. His words aren't making sense. He looks pale and on the verge of a panic attack and he just called me by my real name, this is not a drill. "Calm down. What didn't Aubrey tell me?"

He clutches his head hard with one hand like he's having a migraine. I force myself to remain calm because there's a sudden feeling of dread taking over my system.

"Steroid Pillow?" I look up at him. He finally opens his eyes. Chocolate brown meets dark coffee. "What's wrong?"

"It's me," he says after a moment. He averts his gaze, "It's me."

Maybe he hit his head somewhere. Or one of his Pamon fangirls did a little number on him when I wasn't looking. "It's you? I don't get it—"

"Diadem," he grasps my shoulders lightly like I'm a piece of fine china, "It isn't my mother. It isn't Ophelia. It's me."

The feeling in my stomach gets colder. It's almost a wonder how I'm still breathing. "It's... you?"

My brain is having a hard time catching up but my heart is already breaking. I close my eyes in order to wake myself up.

"Diadem—"

"Stop it. I'm about to wake up," I open my eyes, "Just give me a second."

"I have cancer, Diadem."

The words tear through my heart but I shake my head. It's just a nightmare. I'm going to wake up to the awful smell of Vanessa's morning breath anytime soon.

"I'm sorry," I close my eyes tighter when I hear his voice. His very realistic, broken voice. "I wish I could tell you that it's just a bad dream too. But..."

I open my eyes and stare at the bloodshot eyes that belong to Damon Valentine. I bite my lip and shake my head to keep my tears at bay.

I hate it when the brain catches up.

"I'm not dreaming?" I whisper. There's a dull ache in my body that's taking my energy but I can't tear my eyes away from the hopeless looking eyes in front of me.

I wait for his reply as my heart thrums painfully against my ribcage.

He exhales softly, closing his eyes. "I'm sorry."

I bow my head and close my eyes because I'm very sure that this time, my mascara really is running down my face like an avalanche.

Oh, God. No.

A/N: I'm sorry x.