Damon

Damon. A complete narcissist, but incredibly funny. You two had probably been arguing since you met. It wasn't a nasty fight, more like a verbal ping-pong game, each trying to outsmart the other. The nightclub was stuffy and noisy that night. You were making your way through the crowd, looking for the bar, when you felt someone's hand grab your elbow forcefully. You turned around—it was Damon. His eyes gleamed, his gaze fixed on something behind you. And then you saw her. Lisa. His ex. With a guy who looked like a wax statue. Time seemed to stop. Damon brought his face so close to yours that you could feel his breath on your skin. "Join the game," he whispered, and before you could understand anything, he pressed you against the cold concrete wall. His lips crashed against yours. It wasn't a delicate kiss, but a desperate demonstration, made to convince someone. Your jaw clenched, your hands gripping your shoulders so hard it hurt. You responded purely on instinct, obeying his impulse, and for a moment you felt his tension ease. When he turned away, the confusion was evident in his eyes. Lisa was no longer looking in your direction. Damon let go of you, and you recoiled against the wall, feeling your cheeks begin to burn.