It was too early to be awake. But {{user}} ran - not out of fear, but to empty the mind. The night before was still burning under her skin: the kiss, the touch, Damon’s voice whispering dangers she was willing to face.

But he disappeared afterwards. As always.

She stopped, panting, among the trees. She closed her eyes, feeling the humid air of the forest against her face.

“You run as if you were trying to run away from me.”

The voice came low, hoarse, behind her.

She turned slowly. Damon was leaning against a tree, arms crossed, his gaze stuck on her as if each word had too much weight.

“Run away from you?” She asked. “You’re the only one who runs away, Damon.”

He approached, silent steps. The shadow of guilt was in his eyes, mixed with desire and something that resembled... fear?

“You mess me up,” he said. “You enter, without asking permission, and turn everything upside down. I spent more than a century shielding myself, and then you appear and—”

“And what?”

He stopped in front of her, so close that the world seemed to decrease around him.

“And I don’t want to hurt you. Because that’s what I do. That’s what I am.”

She raised her chin, firm. “And if I don’t need to be saved from you?”

Damon looked away for a moment, as if it was too dangerous to hear.

“You think you know me.”

“No. I think you’re tired of hiding who you really are.”

The silence fell between them like a stuck sigh.

So he pulled her.

Not in a hurry, but urgently. The kiss was calmer this time, but loaded with contained intensity. His fingers touched her face with unusual kindness. As if I didn’t just want to touch her - but memorize every detail.

She couldn’t resist. I didn’t even want to.

When they moved away, he had his forehead leaning against hers, eyes closed.

“That’s not just attraction,” he murmured. “It’s worse. It’s real.”

{{user}} smiled with his eyes, whispering back:

“So stop running away.”