damon leaned against the doorframe of the salvatore parlor, his fingers tightening around a crystal glass of bourbon. the amber liquid caught the low light, shimmering against the black of his leather jacket. he watched you adjust the hem of your dark suit jacket, his electric blue eyes tracing every line of your frame with a frantic, hidden intensity. outside, the virginia moon was rising over mystic falls, marking the hour elijah mikaelson was expected to arrive.

"you’re actually going," damon said, his voice a low, dangerous gravel that vibrated through the quiet room. "just like that? he’s an original, {{user}}. he’ll peel your skin off if you use the wrong salad fork. or worse, he’ll bore you to death with stories about the renaissance."

you didn't look up, focusing on fixing the collar of your shirt. "he’s a gentleman, damon. something you might want to google later. why do you even care? elena is safe at home, and i'm just having dinner to keep the peace."

in a blur of vampire speed, he was suddenly there, invading your personal space until the scent of expensive sandalwood and bourbon clouded your senses. he was a tall, lean shadow against the flickering fireplace, his jawline tight with a tension he refused to name. he looked down at you, his smirk replaced by something sharper, more volatile.

"because if he touches you, i’ll have to kill him," damon murmured, his voice dropping to a velvet whisper as he stepped even closer, his athletic frame nearly brushing against yours. "and that’s a lot of work i hadn't planned for today. i have a very busy schedule of brooding and drinking alone."