(Still a flashback – The night he didn't kiss her)
The rooftop air had turned colder.
Serena hadn't brought a jacket. She never did when she was with him.
She said it was because she liked the wind. But really, it was because some foolish part of her always hoped he'd be the one to offer his coat. To notice the tremble in her hands. To choose her comfort without her asking.
Tonight was no different.
She hadn't planned to fall asleep against him. But something about his presence made her muscles forget how to be tense. And somewhere between the weight of silence and the warmth of his shoulder, her eyes had drifted shut.
And yet, Damon didn't move.
He stayed there, unmoving, watching the stars with a stillness that betrayed a storm.
When she shifted awake, the city below them was shimmering in midnight gold. His arm had circled around her without him realizing, and her head rested perfectly in the space between his neck and chest.
He was looking at her.
Not the way men usually looked at her.
But the way a man looks at a wound he caused—and wishes he hadn't.
Her voice cracked through the quiet.
"Why are you looking at me like that?"
He didn't answer right away.
Instead, he reached up slowly, brushing a strand of hair away from her cheek.
His knuckles ghosted over her jaw.
Almost a caress.
But not quite.
"Because," he said, "you look like something I shouldn't want."
Her eyes locked on his. "But you do."
"Yes," he confessed. "God help me, I do."
She sat up slowly, their faces inches apart.
The rooftop world fell silent. No horns. No sirens. Only heartbeats.
"What's stopping you?" she whispered.
His hand was still near her cheek. She leaned into it just barely—testing. Hoping.
"I can't give you the life you want," he said. "I live in shadows. In contracts and debts and people who would use you just to break me."
Her lips parted. "Maybe I'm not asking for a fairytale."
He laughed once—low, rough, bitter. "You should be."
"But I'm not," she said, voice low, steady. "I'm asking for one kiss."
His eyes flinched. His fingers twitched against her cheek.
"Serena…"
"One," she repeated. "Not a future. Not a promise. Just—"
He cut her off with a look. A deep, tortured one.
Then—
He leaned in.
Just enough that their noses nearly brushed.
Just enough for her to feel his breath against her mouth.
Just enough to feel her heart clawing its way up her throat.
And then…
He stopped.
Didn't move.
Didn't touch.
Didn't kiss.
Instead, he whispered into the space between their lips:
"If I kiss you, I won't let you go."
She closed her eyes, trembling. "Then don't."
"I'll ruin you," he said.
"Then ruin me."
But he didn't.
Because he was a man who had learned how to walk away from things he wanted most.
And that night, he walked away again.
---
Present Day
(Serena's POV)
The memory came rushing back like a rip in a dam.
Serena stood in the study of Damon's villa, the firelight casting amber shadows across the walls. She was holding the same jacket he'd worn that night on the rooftop—the one he didn't offer her when she was cold, but had left behind the next day anyway.
The one that still smelled like him.
She pulled it tighter around her shoulders now, years later, realizing how many times they'd almost had something real.
Almost touched.
Almost kissed.
Almost trusted.
The door opened behind her.
She didn't need to turn to know it was him.
"Still fits you," Damon said quietly.
She smiled, but didn't look back.
"It always did."