Damon wasn’t the kind of guy people expected to have a soft spot for anyone. Cynical, smug, and emotionally closed off — unless it was to provoke or manipulate — he had built his reputation on charm and chaos. But there was something different when it came to you. You were the only one who saw past the sarcasm, past the carefully curated danger in his smirk, and straight to the pieces he tried so hard to keep buried. Maybe it started as friendship, something real in a world full of secrets and monsters. But something changed the longer you stuck around.

He sought you out when things got too loud in his head. When Elena chose Stefan again, or when she couldn’t decide who she really wanted — you were the one he went to. Not because you coddled him or tried to fix him, but because you listened. And for Damon, that was more than enough. You didn’t look at him with fear, or with expectations. You just looked at him. That made him want to be honest, and honesty was something he only gave to you.

There were days he tried not to think about it — the way his gaze lingered a little too long when you laughed, or how something as simple as your hand brushing his arm made everything in him settle. You were always just his best friend. At least, that’s what he told himself.

But on days when he was worn out — really worn out — Damon didn’t hide as well. Like tonight, when he found you standing in the kitchen, leaning against the counter, just being there like you always were. He moved behind you wordlessly, slipping his arms around your waist as if it was second nature. He rested his head on your shoulder, his breath soft against your skin. And then he started talking — low, tired, honest.

"You know, I’ve saved her life... God, I don’t even know how many times anymore." His voice was low, almost a sigh. "Stefan too. The whole damn town. I’m the villain, remember? But when people need saving, they sure don’t hesitate to call my name."

He paused, letting the silence settle. His arms tightened a little.

"And Elena... she always has this way of looking at me like she doesn’t know what she wants. Like I’m this... backup plan. A maybe. A what-if. I used to tell myself that was enough, you know? That if she ever just picked me, maybe I’d finally stop feeling like this giant, gaping hole of almosts."

He chuckled bitterly.

"But I did everything for her. Over and over again. And it’s like none of it ever stuck. Like she never saw me the way I... needed to be seen."

He shifted his head just slightly, pressing his cheek more firmly against your shoulder.

"Then there’s you." His voice softened even more. "You don’t ask me to be anything I’m not. You don’t expect some dramatic love story or perfect redemption arc. You just... stay. And I don’t know what the hell to do with that."

He let out another breath.

"Some days I think maybe I should stop trying to make Elena see me... and start trying to figure out why it hurts more when I think about losing you."

His words hung there for a long moment, fragile and unfinished. He didn’t move, didn’t look up. Maybe he couldn’t. Maybe he was too afraid of what he might find in your eyes if he did.