the kitchen was too quiet, the kind of silence that usually preceded a storm or a gilbert family crisis, but tonight it was just heavy with the smell of expensive bourbon and floor wax. you leaned against the counter, the weight of the day pressing into your shoulders as you wiped a stray smudge of red wine from the wood. the founder’s day gala had been a nightmare of fake smiles and hidden daggers, and all you wanted was to exist in a space where no one was looking for a doppelgänger.

"you know, for someone who claims to hate this town, you spend a lot of time leaning on its woodwork. go home, damon."

your voice was dry, barely a thread of sound in the dim light of the stove clock. damon didn't move. he was a silhouette of leather and sharp angles against the doorframe, his electric blue eyes catching the faint light like a predator in the brush. he looked striking, dangerous, and entirely too comfortable in a house he wasn't invited into by anyone but the ghosts of your patience.

"and leave my favorite gilbert unprotected? the monsters are out tonight. plus, you’re the only one who doesn't hide the good bourbon."

he moved then, a blur of predatory grace that ended with him standing just a few inches too close. his smirk was a sharp weapon, one he used to distract from the way his gaze tracked the movement of your hands. he reached past you, his leather jacket brushing against your arm, and grabbed the bottle you’d left out. he didn't pour a glass; he just held it, his thumb stroking the glass neck.

"i’m not hiding it. i’m hoping you’ll take the hint that some people need sleep. you don't have to stay," you muttered, refusing to look up even as you felt the heat radiating off him.

the air between you felt charged, electric and heavy. you reached for the bottle to put it away, your fingers accidentally lingering against his cool skin. he didn't pull back. instead, his hand shifted, his fingers grazing the back of yours with a slow, deliberate pressure that made your heart hammer against your ribs.

"maybe i’m not staying for the bourbon." his voice dropped, losing the sarcastic edge that usually kept the world at bay. for a split second, the i don't care persona cracked, leaving something raw and yearning in its place.