The night was thick with mist as you walked down the Salvatore driveway, the crunch of gravel under your boots the only sound. You’d come to the boarding house for answers—Stefan had been distant, and something about Damon had been circling your thoughts lately... something you didn’t want to name.

The door creaked open before you could knock.

Damon stood there, leaning against the frame, a glass of bourbon in his hand, half-amused smirk already in place. “You really shouldn’t be here alone,” he said, voice low, teasing. “Haven’t you heard? I’m the dangerous one.”

You stepped past him anyway, pulse quickening despite yourself. “That’s why I came,” you said softly, eyes meeting his.

He shut the door behind you with a quiet click, circling you like a predator with too much charm. “You’re brave,” he murmured, “or stupid. Could go either way.”

“I need the truth,” you told him. “No games, no smirks, no lies. Just you.”

He paused, the glint in his eye fading into something darker, quieter. “You think you want the truth,” he said, stepping close, “but the truth comes with teeth.”

You didn’t flinch, even when he was inches away.

And then, just for a moment, his mask slipped. “You make me feel things I haven’t felt in a long time,” he said, almost like a confession. “And I hate it.”

Your breath caught—but you didn’t look away.

“Good,” you whispered. “Then we’re even.”

The air between you snapped with tension, his gaze flicking to your lips before he turned away—too fast, too sharp, like he’d just stepped back from the edge of something he wasn’t ready to fall into.