Chapter 19: The Lines We Cross

Phoebe woke to warmth.

To the steady rise and fall of Damon's chest beneath her cheek.

To the faint scent of him—clean, crisp, and unmistakably him.

She hadn't meant to fall asleep on him.

But she had.

And he was still here.

The realization sent a slow, unfamiliar ache through her chest.

She should move.

She should pull away before this became something she couldn't walk back from.

But she didn't.

Not yet.

Instead, she let herself linger in that space between sleep and reality, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

It felt dangerous—how easy it was to just be with him.

And that was the problem.

Because easy had never been their story.

Damon shifted slightly, and she felt his breathing change, his arm tightening just a fraction around her waist.

He was awake.

And he wasn't letting go.

Phoebe's heart pounded.

She should say something.

Should make a joke, brush it off—anything to shatter the fragile moment before it settled too deep.

But when he finally spoke, his voice was husky with sleep.

"You're still here."

Her breath caught.

It wasn't a question.

But it felt like one.

She swallowed. "So are you."

A slow, quiet exhale. "Yeah."

The word hung between them, heavy with everything they weren't saying.

Phoebe finally lifted her head, her gaze meeting his.

She expected him to smirk. To tease. To make it easier for her to pull away.

But he didn't.

He just looked at her.

Like he was waiting.

Like he wasn't in a rush to move past whatever this was.

And that made it worse.

Because Damon had never been the patient one.

He was decisive, quick, always knowing what he wanted and going after it without hesitation.

But with her—

With this—

He was waiting.

Like he knew she was the one who had to decide.

Phoebe's fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, just for a second.

Then she pulled away.

Not rushed. Not abrupt.

Just enough to remind herself that this—whatever this was—was dangerous.

Damon let her go, his expression unreadable.

She sat up, running a hand through her hair before reaching for the blanket that had somehow ended up draped over both of them.

Her throat felt tight. "I should—"

Damon sat up too, his gaze locked onto hers.

"You don't have to say anything."

That only made it worse.

Because he meant it.

He wasn't demanding answers.

Wasn't pushing her for an explanation.

But he knew.

Knew that last night had changed something.

Knew she felt it too.

And the fact that he wasn't pressing her for more—

That he was letting her come to it on her own—

Was the very thing making her want to run.

"I should get ready," she muttered, standing up.

Damon didn't stop her.

Didn't say anything else.

And that silence was somehow louder than anything he could have said.

---

Later That Day...

Phoebe had done everything to push the morning out of her Finally left the house and had work load worth 3 weeks on her desk.

She buried herself in work, took back-to-back meetings, and pretended that last night hadn't happened.

That Damon hadn't happened.

But then—

Her assistant knocked on her office door, stepping inside with a small, knowing smile.

"This just arrived for you."

Phoebe frowned as the woman set a bouquet of flowers on her desk.

She recognized them instantly.

White lilies.

The same ones Damon had left for her before.

Her chest tightened.

The card attached was simple.

"For the one who never needed saving, but deserves the world anyway. – D"

Phoebe exhaled sharply.

Damon was testing the waters.

He wasn't forcing his way in.

But he wasn't letting her run either.

And for the first time in a long time—

She didn't know what to do about it.