Chapter 17: Lines Start Blurring

Phoebe had never felt this kind of emptiness before.

She had lost things before. Opportunities. Relationships. Even parts of herself.

But never her entire family.

Her father's words played in her head like a broken record.

"You're out. No safety net. No name. No inheritance."

Just like that, she had been erased from the Sinclair legacy.

And now, she was alone.

She didn't go to work. Didn't step foot outside her house. The world felt like it was moving without her, and she didn't have the energy to catch up.

For days, she barely ate. Barely slept. The walls of her penthouse felt too big, too hollow, swallowing her whole.

And then—

Damon showed up.

---

Uninvited, but Welcome

She had ignored his calls, his texts.

She hadn't expected him to come.

Yet there he was, standing in her doorway with a bag of groceries and an expression that made something sharp lodge itself in her throat.

He didn't say anything.

Just stepped inside like he belonged there.

And, God help her, maybe he did.

---

He cooked for her.

Not extravagant meals. Just simple, warm food that reminded her she was alive.

He sat with her, even when she had nothing to say. Even when she refused to look at him.

He put on movies—not because they were watching, but because the silence had become unbearable.

And slowly, so damn slowly, the weight on her chest didn't feel so suffocating.

She still hurt.

But she wasn't alone.

---

(The Blurry Lines)

The problem with comfort was that it made you forget.

Forget why you were hurting. Forget why you shouldn't let someone in.

Forget that this was Damon.

And she couldn't afford to forget that.

But it was impossible when he was always there.

When he leaned against her kitchen counter, sleeves rolled up, cooking like it was second nature to him.

When he sat next to her on the couch, a little too close, their arms almost touching.

When he looked at her like that—like she was something fragile and important at the same time.

And the worst part?

She let him.

She let him get close.

She let him be her comfort.

She let the lines blur.

And one day—

She didn't want to fight it.

---

Phoebe knew she should stop this before it went too far.

But every time she thought about telling Damon to leave, she hesitated.

Because the truth was—she didn't want him to go.

She told herself it was temporary. That once she felt stable again, she'd pull away. But then he did things that made it impossible to keep her distance.

Like today.

She had barely managed to get out of bed, exhaustion pressing down on her like a weight. But when she finally stepped into the kitchen, she found Damon there, sleeves rolled up, making pancakes like it was his house.

The smell of butter and syrup filled the space, and something deep in her chest ached.

"You're awake," he said without turning around.

She crossed her arms. "How do you even know where everything is?"

Damon smirked. "I pay attention."

She hated how much that affected her.

---

They ate in silence, but it wasn't uncomfortable.

Damon didn't ask if she was okay. He didn't push. And maybe that was why she let herself relax—because he knew exactly how to be here without making her feel suffocated.

But she felt his presence.

Every glance. Every brush of his hand when he passed her the syrup. Every time his voice dipped just a little softer when he spoke to her.

It was too much.

It wasn't enough.

And Phoebe was tired of pretending it didn't affect her.

---

Later that evening, they sat on the couch, the TV playing some movie neither of them was really watching.

She had shifted slightly, her shoulder brushing his.

Damon didn't move away.

Her pulse quickened, but she stayed still, pretending she didn't notice.

Minutes passed, and then—

She felt it.

His fingers, the lightest ghost of a touch against hers, resting on the couch between them.

Barely there.

Almost nothing.

But also everything.

She could move away.

She should move away.

But she didn't.

And neither did he.

They just sat there, in the quiet, pretending neither of them noticed how close they had gotten.

Pretending this wasn't dangerous.

Pretending the lines between them weren't already gone.