The club was dimly lit, neon streaks of red and blue flickering through the haze of cigarette smoke and bodies moving in slow, hypnotic waves. The bass from the speakers pulsed like a heartbeat, deep and resonant, making the walls tremble. It was the kind of place where time blurred, where reality felt distant—like a dream you weren’t sure you wanted to wake up from.

You leaned against the bar, fingers tracing the rim of your glass, the ice melting into the amber liquid. The air was thick with something unspoken, a tension that coiled around your spine. And then, you felt it—felt him.

A presence at my side, too familiar, too intoxicating.

Damon.

His voice was smooth, laced with that usual cocky amusement, but beneath it, something else lingered—something darker.

“You look like someone with a lot on their mind,” he murmured, tilting his glass towards you, ice clinking softly.

You met his gaze, those piercing blue eyes catching the low light, almost glowing. He always had that effect—making everything else fade, like the world existed solely for this moment.

“What makes you think I want to talk about it?” You countered, your voice quieter than you meant it to be.

He smirked, slow and deliberate, before leaning in just enough that you could feel the warmth of his breath against my skin.

“Maybe you don’t,” he said, his tone unreadable. “But something tells me you haven’t decided yet.”

He waited, watching, as if daring you to answer.