The sound of rain tapped softly against the windows while the glow of the TV painted the room in gold and blue. Damon lounged on your couch like he’d been there a thousand times before — legs stretched out, bourbon in hand, his usual smirk playing at the corner of his lips.

He lifted the remote, squinting at the screen. “So… this is what passes for entertainment these days? No explosions, no blood, just… people running through airports for love?” He set the remote down with a sigh that was almost theatrical. “You humans and your masochism.”

When you came back from the kitchen, he let his gaze linger — a flicker of amusement in his eyes. “Popcorn? How domestic of us. I should’ve brought wine. Or, you know, something more interesting.”

The opening credits rolled, and Damon shifted closer, arm draping lazily across the back of the couch — close enough for you to feel it, but not enough to call him out on it. He tilted his head toward you, smirk deepening.

“Alright, I’ll bite,” he murmured, voice smooth as velvet. “What’s the appeal here? The happily-ever-after? The grand romantic gesture?” He leaned in slightly, eyes glinting. “Because I’ve got to be honest, sweetheart — I don’t see the fun in watching someone fall in love when you could just…” His words trailed off, teasingly unfinished, as his gaze flicked toward your lips before returning to the screen.