With every moment spent sitting with her, it was becoming clearer and clearer that she was in a bad way. Damon really was worried, a stark difference from his usual apathy for anyone outside of his circle of friends and family. It made him wish that his people skills went beyond the ability to casually flirt with others. He really felt kind of useless.
Her admission that she thought she’d do anything to be happy only reaffirmed what he’d originally thought. This wasn’t just some drastic comedown from some kind of high. It went deeper. There was real grief in her voice, raw pain that even the most oblivious person would have to notice. He thought that maybe a hand on her shoulder would bring some comfort, but she seemed to only think of him as a stranger and he didn’t want to put her off so he kept his hands to himself.
Then it happened. He saw the recognition in her expression. Her slayer sense was kicking in in spite of the melancholic haze she seemed to be in. Damon had to have been a fool to think he’d be able to sit so close, provide a little comfort without Buffy realizing what he was.
“Usually I’d take this as my cue to leave, but I’m not leaving you alone like this. Stubborn.” He said stubbornly. It felt like an obligation of sorts. He couldn’t leave her on the side of the road when he wasn’t certain she was safe.