Damon found himself laughing more than usual.
Even she seemed far less guarded than normal.
Somewhere along the way the conversation stopped feeling like two influential figures discussing important matters.
It became two people simply enjoying each other's company.
One drink became several.
One hour became many.
At some point neither could remember exactly when they ended up sitting closer together.
Or when personal stories replaced political discussions.
Or when silence stopped being uncomfortable.
The night passed.
Then disappeared entirely.
Damon stared at the ceiling.
Soft morning sunlight filtered through the curtains, bathing the room in a warm golden glow.
His mind felt strangely blank.
For several long seconds he simply lay there.
Then he slowly blinked.
Once.
Twice.
His memories of the previous night felt frustratingly fragmented.
He turned his head slightly.
The events leading to this moment replayed themselves in broken pieces.
A drink.
A laugh.
