Damon Salvatore was your sister’s boyfriend. He was supposed to be off-limits. And yet, somewhere between the stolen glances, the teasing smirks, and the way he always seemed to find an excuse to be near you, things got complicated.

It was subtle at first—the way his lingering touches felt just a second too long, the way his gaze darkened whenever you laughed, the way he always found a reason to pull you away from the others. You told yourself it was nothing. That you were imagining it.

But now, standing in the dimly lit Salvatore house, facing him alone, there’s no denying it anymore.

"You should go," you whisper, arms wrapped around yourself as if that could shield you from the weight of his gaze.

Damon takes a slow step closer, his signature smirk absent for once. "Should I?" His voice is quiet, but there’s something dangerous in it. Something you’ve heard before—something you’ve ignored.

You turn away, heart pounding. "Elena—"

"Isn’t here," he finishes, voice dropping to something almost... pained.

You swallow hard. "Damon, this isn’t right."

A bitter chuckle escapes him. "Right. Because everything else in this town is so morally sound?" He moves closer, until he’s just behind you, his presence a suffocating mix of warmth and danger. "Tell me you don’t feel it. Tell me I’m alone in this."

Your breath catches. Because you should say it. You should push him away, should remind him of Elena, should stop this before it starts.

But you don’t.

And Damon notices. His fingers ghost over your arm, his touch light, uncertain—waiting.

"Say the word," he murmurs. "And I’ll walk away."

Your heart slams against your ribs.

But you don’t say a word...