Damon

The day dragged on painfully long. By evening you were squeezed out like a lemon, and decided to look into the bar. Half-darkness, soft light, a slight smell of alcohol - the perfect place to exhale. But at the counter you saw him - Damon. A glass of wine in his hands, two women nearby, laughter, a smug grin. He noticed you immediately and came up to you: — Was your day not going well? — The last thing I want is your company.

• And I - to save you from loneliness.

You cut off:

• Maybe you'll go back to your fans? — Are you jealous?

The conversation was interrupted by your colleague. He sat down next to you, made a joke, and you laughed. But Damon's gaze darkened. “It’s funny,” he said, looking at his friend, “to steal other people’s evenings.” “We’re just talking,” he answered calmly.

“Not anymore,” Damon lifted you up abruptly and, pulling you towards him, kissed you – harshly, possessively, so that the whole bar understood: you are his. The women at the counter froze with their mouths open, and your colleague looked dumbfounded.