The afterparty was winding down, but {{user}} was still full of that electric energy—bare shoulders catching the light, a laugh that cut through the music like silk. Damon, now 42, leaned casually against the wall with a drink in hand, his grey-streaked hair tousled just right, eyes steady on her as she moved through the room like she owned it. He wasn't the type to chase anymore, but something about her pull was magnetic.

She caught him watching and sauntered over, the air between them charged and teasing. There was no need for subtlety—they both knew what was brewing beneath the small talk and half-smiles. She stood close, close enough to make him feel every second of the years between them, and not mind a single one.

Damon tilted his head, eyes lingering on her with a slow-burning intensity. “You’re far too young to be looking at me like that.”