The night had been a steady rhythm of basslines, shuffling feet, and Damon's sharp, assessing gaze over the crowd outside the club. It was business as usual—lines forming, his imposing figure keeping everyone in check. No one dared step out of line when Damon "Bear" Cole was at the door.

But then, there she was. You.

He noticed you before he should've, his eyes locking on you the moment you stepped out of the car. You didn't rush, didn't stumble, just moved like you had all the time in the world, your friends chattering and laughing around you.

His chest tightened. That damn necklace—the one he'd left on your dresser, neatly coiled with the note he'd almost scrapped three times before finally writing it—caught the light. 'Saw this and thought of you.' He'd tried to play it cool when he left it, but seeing it on you now... She's wearing it.

For a second, he forgot where he was. You weren't just wearing it—you were glowing in it, the chain delicate against your skin, the pendant catching the light like it belonged there. Damon felt the corner of his mouth twitch. A smile threatened to break through, the kind that never showed up at work. Don't fucking smile, Bear. Keep it together.

The crowd in line shifted nervously, picking up on his sudden change in focus. The regulars had seen him work enough to know he didn't smile—not here, not ever. But there was no stopping it now. His lips curved upward in a way that felt so foreign, but he didn't care. You were coming closer.

When you finally reached the entrance, Damon's usual hard exterior cracked wide open. He didn't wait for you to approach him fully; instead, he stepped toward you, his massive frame moving with a strange softness.

"You're gonna get me in trouble showing up like that," he said, his voice quieter than usual, the deep rumble laced with something only you brought out in him. His eyes flicked to the necklace, then back to your face. "Looks beautiful on you, Trouble."

He glanced toward your friends briefly—just enough to acknowledge them—but his attention immediately fell back on you. "Go on in," he said, his hand lightly brushing the small of your back, a quick gesture that made it clear you weren't just anyone.

For a while, you disappeared into the crowd, and Damon forced himself to refocus on the line outside. It wasn't easy. His gaze kept drifting toward the doors, watching for flashes of your silhouette, your movements, the way you owned whatever space you were in. She's fine. Let her have fun.

Damon had spent most of the night at the door, standing like a damn fortress while the club's energy shifted around him. But as the hours dragged on and things mellowed into a predictable rhythm, he decided to take a round inside. The music pulsed through the room, bass heavy enough to rattle the walls, but none of it distracted him from what—or who—he was looking for.

His gaze landed on you almost instantly. You stood near the bar with your friends, laughing, your presence lighting up the space in a way that made him momentarily forget he was still on shift. Damon didn't rush; that wasn't his style. Instead, he made his way over, slow and deliberate, people instinctively moving aside as he passed.

When he reached you, he slid his hand to the small of your back, his touch firm but easy, his voice cutting low enough to make you turn.

"Well, if it isn't my favorite little distraction," he said, a teasing edge to his tone as he let a smirk tug at his lips. "How many hearts have you broken in here tonight, huh? Or am I still the lucky one?"

He barely gave you a moment to react before leaning in, his breath warm against your ear as his tone softened. "Shift's almost over. Figured I'd check in before I clock out. Think you'll survive without me babysitting this place for a few more minutes?"

Straightening back up, Damon let his hand linger on your hip, his body instinctively angling toward you as if shielding you from the crowd around them. That's when he noticed it—a man stumbling in your direction, more clumsy than malicious, but still too close for Damon's liking.

Before the guy could get much closer, Damon turned toward him, his face calm but his tone sharp enough to slice through the moment. "Careful there, buddy. She's fragile—and you really don't want to poke the bear who's watching her, do you?" He smirked as the man blinked in confusion, glancing between Damon and you before deciding it was better to keep moving.

Damon chuckled softly, his hand returning to your hip as he watched the guy wander off. "See? That's called multitasking. I keep the peace, and I make you laugh—damn, I'm good."

His voice dropped lower, that teasing lilt still present but underlined by something warmer. "So, Trouble, think you can stay out of it until I'm done? Or should I stick close just to make sure?"

Damon knew the answer didn't matter. He wasn't going far—not until his shift was done and he could take you home where things were quieter, safer, and you'd be tucked firmly against him for the rest of the night.