The party was in full swing, the air thick with cigarette smoke and the low hum of chatter, people gathered in clusters around the living room, glasses of cheap champagne in hand. The lights outside were a kaleidoscope of color, visible through the fogged windows as fireworks started to light up the sky. Damon leaned against the wall, watching the crowd with half-lidded eyes, his fingers wrapped around a bottle of beer. His usual smirk was nowhere to be seen—he looked distant, a little detached, but still undeniably magnetic in that way only he could pull off.

She was standing near the punch bowl, laughing at something someone had said, but her eyes kept drifting back to him, to the way his presence seemed to draw the space around him into a sort of quiet chaos. She wasn’t sure what it was—maybe it was the way he carried himself, or the way the night had turned a little too surreal—but something in the air felt like it was about to snap, like the weight of the seconds ticking down to midnight was hanging on the edge of something.

When he finally pushed off from the wall and made his way over to her, his gaze was intense but unreadable, like he was sizing her up for something. He didn't say anything at first, just stood there in that confident, almost dangerous way he had, until he finally broke the silence with a soft chuckle. "You planning to kiss me at midnight, or just keep looking at me like that all night?"