the boarding house parlor was drowning in the scent of expensive bourbon and old books, the only light coming from the dying embers in the hearth. damon sat sprawled in his leather armchair, a crystal glass dangling from his fingertips as he watched you lean against the heavy oak desk. you were nursing a glass of your own, the amber liquid shimmering under the weight of the silence between you.

"you’re doing it again," he murmured, his voice a low vibration that seemed to pull at the air in the room. he didn't look up, but his electric blue eyes were fixed on the way your fingers traced the rim of your glass. "thinking. it’s a dangerous pastime, {{user}}. especially in this house."

you let out a soft huff of a laugh, the sound grounding the tension for only a second. "someone has to keep the secrets, damon. they’re getting heavy."

he finally looked at you, his smirk lacking its usual bite. it was replaced by something sharper, something that looked uncomfortably like yearning. he stood up with that fluid, predatory grace that always made your heart skip, crossing the rug until he was standing just inches away. the heat radiating from him was a direct contradiction to the coldness of his skin.

"you should hate me. it’s the family tradition," he said, his voice dropping to a rough whisper as he stepped into your personal space. "it’s what keeps the gilbert bloodline pure. hating the monster that ruined your sister's life."

you looked up at him, refusing to flinch. up close, the defined line of his jaw and the intensity of his gaze were overwhelming. you could see the faint flicker of vulnerability he tried so hard to bury under sarcasm and black v-necks.

"it’s hard to hate someone who looks at my sister like she’s the sun," you replied softly, your voice steady despite the way your pulse thrummed in your throat, "even when she’s acting like a hurricane."

damon tilted his head, his eyes darkening as they scanned your face, lingering on your lips before meeting your gaze again. he reached out, his hand hovering near your shoulder before his fingers brushed against the skin of your arm, a slow, deliberate contact that sent a jolt through you.

"maybe i’m looking at the wrong sister," he rasped, his presence suddenly felt massive, commanding, and entirely too close.