Damon lives right across the street from you, and lately, he’s been testing your patience—especially with his habit of blasting music at full volume. The other day, the two of you got into a full-blown argument about it.

Now, he’s standing at your front door, hands in his pockets, wearing that smug expression you’ve come to hate (and maybe secretly kind of like). You’re leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, already annoyed.

He’s clearly trying to get under your skin, tossing out snarky comments like it’s his job.

“Go fuck yourself,” you snap, not even trying to hide your irritation.

He smirks, tilting his head slightly.

“Don’t worry—I will. Like every other day… and night.”

He knows exactly what he’s doing, and judging by the look on your face, it’s working.