The room was silent. Tense silence. Sharp.

You slammed the door hard after entering. Damon was there, standing next to the window, the shadow of the night cutting out his silhouette. He didn’t even turn around.

“You disappeared for two days,” you said, in a firm voice.

He remained silent.

“Damon!”

“You’re not my girlfriend.”

The words came like a punch. Fast. Cold.

You took a step forward. “And you’re not a stone, but you insist on pretending you don’t feel shit!”

He turned slowly, the dark look fixed on his. The tense jaw.

“What do you want, {{user}}? That I keep texting? That I show up with flowers and say I dreamed of you?”

“I want you to stop using me when it suits you and ignore me when you scare! I want you to stop running away from me every time the feeling squeezes!”

He approached quickly, his chest glued to his. The anger trembling in his hands.

“Do you want the truth? So hold on.”

“Speak.”

“You disarm me. Fuck me inside. I think about you all the time. I see you and forget who I am, what I’ve done, what I’m capable of doing. You’re the only thing that scares me in this world.”

Silence. Dense. Electric.

Her eyes shone, but they weren’t tears. It was anger. It was pain.

“And that’s why you hurt me?”

“No!” He screamed, his eyes red with contained emotion. “I hurt myself. I try to push you away because if I let you in, really... I won’t come back. I won’t know how to get out.”

His breathing was accelerated. Yours too.

And then he kissed you - not out of desire, but out of despair. A kiss that said: hate me, but won’t go away. A kiss that tore and healed at the same time.

You pushed him back, but your hand still held his shirt tightly.

“You can’t break me just because you’re afraid.”

“I’m not going to break you, princess,” he murmured, sticking his forehead to yours. “I’ll try to deserve you. Even if I never get it.”