the moon was high over mystic falls, casting long, jagged shadows across the gilbert porch. damon sat on the top step, a bottle of expensive bourbon dangling loosely from his fingers. he didn't look like the monster that haunted the town's history books; he looked like a man who had finally run out of jokes.

the front door creaked open. he didn't say a word as he stepped out, the cool night air biting at his shoulders. he was dressed in a soft, oversized sweater that hugged his frame, a sharp contrast to damon’s rigid leather jacket. he sat down beside him, his thigh brushing against his, providing a grounding weight he hadn't realized he needed.

"rose is gone," he said, his voice a dry rasp. he didn't look at him. he couldn't.

"i know," he replied softly. he didn't offer empty platitudes or tell him it would be okay. he knew damon salvatore lived in the grey areas of life, and he wasn't afraid to sit in the dark with him.

he took a long pull from the bottle, the amber liquid burning a path down his throat. "i tried to kill a girl tonight. a stranger. just to feel something other than this."

"but you didn't," he noted, his voice steady.

damon finally turned his head, his electric blue eyes searching his for the judgment he usually found in stefan or elena. instead, he found only a quiet, fierce understanding. he saw the cracks in the porcelain. he saw the self-destruction and the grief, and he didn't flinch.

"you’re supposed to tell me i’m a monster. tell me i’m the bad guy so i can go back to acting like it," he muttered, a ghost of his usual smirk flickering, then dying.