Ethan stayed for exactly six more minutes.
Six painfully long, awkward, suffocating minutes.
He rambled about screws and boards and weather, completely oblivious to the fact that Aurora and Damian were sitting on opposite ends of the couch like two teenagers caught almost making out.
When he finally left, Aurora sagged forward, burying her burning face in her hands.
"Oh my god. I can't do this anymore."
Damian exhaled slowly. "Neither can I."
Aurora peeked at him through her fingers.
Damian sat with his elbows on his knees, head bowed, as if fighting with himself.
"Damian?"
He lifted his eyes.
Stormy blue, vulnerable, and trembling with something he clearly didn't want to admit.
"I wasn't supposed to feel anything for you," he whispered.
Aurora's breath caught. "Why not?"
"Because I break things. And people."
"You don't break me."
He stared at her like he didn't believe it—but desperately wanted to.
Aurora stood and walked toward him.
Slow.
Steady.
Heart pounding so loudly she was sure he heard it.
Damian's breath hitched as she stopped in front of him.
"Aurora…"
His voice was hoarse.
Warning.
Pleading.
Longing.
She knelt slightly, bringing herself to his eye level.
"Tell me the truth," she whispered.
"Did you really want to kiss me?"
Damian's jaw clenched.
His fingers curled into fists.
Then—
Softly.
Brokenly.
Like a confession dragged from the depths of him—
"Yes."
Aurora's heart flipped.
Damian stood slowly, hesitating inches away from her.
He reached out—stopped—pulled back—
as if he was terrified of hurting her.
She whispered, "Damian, it's okay."
His breath shuddered.
"You don't understand. If I start… I won't want to stop."
Aurora's pulse raced.
"Then don't stop."
That broke him.
With a low, helpless sound, Damian cupped her face with both hands, his touch trembling but reverent—like she was something sacred.
Aurora's eyes fluttered shut.
And finally—
finally—
finally—
He kissed her.
Soft at first.
Barely a brush.
A question.
Aurora answered by leaning into him.
He exhaled shakily against her lips, the sound almost desperate, and pulled her closer.
The kiss deepened—
slow, warm, aching.
His thumb stroked her cheek gently.
Her fingers curled in the fabric of his shirt.
Every part of him felt like he'd been waiting years—
years—
for something he didn't believe he deserved.
When they broke apart, Damian rested his forehead against hers, breathing hard.
"Aurora," he whispered, voice raw, "tell me this isn't a mistake."
Aurora cupped his jaw, her thumb brushing the soft stubble there.
"It's not."
His eyes closed, relief washing over his expression.
He leaned into her touch like he needed it to breathe.
But then—
his brows furrowed slightly.
"Aurora… I don't know how to do this."
She smiled softly. "We'll learn together."
His eyes opened—
slow, bright, full of something that looked a lot like hope.
He kissed her again.
Gentler this time.
A promise.
Then he whispered—
"I'm terrified."
She whispered back—
"I know."
He held her tightly, and for the first time since moving to this town, Damian Hale didn't feel like a ghost wandering through his own life.
He felt alive.
Because of her.