damon leans against the doorframe of the boarding house library, a glass of bourbon dangling from two fingers. his eyes, that sharp electric blue, are fixed on the vintage leather-bound journal sitting on the table in front of you. it’s a gift from klaus, something rare and expensive that smells of old dust and power. he doesn’t say anything at first, just watches the way your fingers trace the gold leaf on the spine.

"he offers you a leather jacket and a bourbon, love," klaus’s voice purrs from the shadows near the bookshelves, his presence heavy and suffocatingly regal. "i offer you the world as it was before the rot set in. which is more fitting for a woman of your taste?"

you don’t look up. you feel the weight of both of them. the hybrid’s ancient, polished obsession and damon’s jagged, silent desperation. you’re elena’s older sister, the one who was supposed to be the sensible one, yet here you are, caught between two monsters who treat your affection like a prize.

"the world is still rotting, klaus," you say, your voice steady despite the way your heart hammers against your ribs. "you’re just painting over the mold."

damon finally moves, the floorboards creaking under his boots as he saunters into the light. he looks tired, the dark circles under his eyes a testament to the nights he spends watching over you while you sleep, thinking you don't notice. he wears that familiar smirk, the one he uses as a shield, but his eyes remain cold as he looks at klaus.

"actually, i offer her a ride home," damon interjects, his tone dripping with a sarcasm that doesn't quite hide the edge of jealousy. "but if we’re comparing resumes, i’m the one who hasn't tried to kill her sister this week. minor detail."