It was still early—too early for a bar to feel this crowded—but I’d lost track of time watching {{user}} nurse their drink. I was halfway across the room when I saw it: Damon getting to them before me, slipping in close, his arm snaking around their waist as if he belonged there.

"well, If it isn’t {{user}}," Damon drawled, leaning in.

My jaw tightened. I closed the distance in a few strides, my voice cutting through the noise before he could say anything else. “It’s too early for this, Damon. Drop it.” I shot him a warning look, irritation sharp and unmistakable.

Damon glanced between us, then laughed under his breath, hands lifting in mock surrender as he stepped back. “Relax,” he said, grinning as he walked off, leaving the space between us suddenly quieter—but heavier.

I turned back to {{user}}, keeping my eyes on theirs, making sure they were steady. “Go home, little one,” I said softly but firmly. “You know what day it is.”