the air in the boarding house parlor was thick with the metallic tang of blood and the honeyed scent of bourbon. damon sat rigid in the leather armchair, his jaw set so tight it looked carved from stone. his electric blue eyes, usually sparking with some witty retort, were dark and clouded, fixed on the way your hands trembled as you pressed a blood-soaked cloth against the jagged cut on his cheek.

"you’re supposed to be resting," he muttered, his voice a low, dangerous rumble that vibrated in the small space between you. he didn't move to take the cloth from you, his hands gripped the armrests so hard the wood groaned under his strength. "stefan's playing nursemaid to elena. you should be upstairs."

you ignored him, your thumb brushing against the rough stubble of his chin as you leaned in closer. the weight of the day, the shadow of klaus hanging over the town like a shroud, felt heavy on your shoulders. you could feel his gaze tracing the bandage wrapped around your own side, hidden beneath your sweater, and you knew it was killing him.

"elijah thinks i should leave mystic falls. just for a while," you said softly, the words hanging like a threat in the quiet room.

damon flinched. it wasn't from the sting of the alcohol on the cloth, but something deeper, a hairline fracture in the carefully constructed 'i don't care' mask he wore for the rest of the world. he let out a sharp, breathy laugh that held no humor.

"he’s right. you’d be safe," damon said, his eyes finally meeting yours, intense and suffocating. "you’d have a very long, very boring life full of poetry and tea. elijah can give you a museum-grade existence in some chateau in france where nothing ever bleeds."

you paused, the cloth hovering near his temple. the yearning in his expression was so raw it made your heart ache, a silent plea wrapped in a sarcastic bite. "is that what you want? for me to go?"

for a second, he didn't breathe. then, his hand shot out, fingers wrapping around your wrist with a grip that was firm but never meant to hurt. he pulled your hand down, forcing you to look at him, really look at him.

"i want you to be safe," he whispered, his voice cracking just enough to show the monster was losing the fight to the man. "but if you walk out that door with him... i lose the only reason i have to stay 'good.' so, yeah. go to france. save yourself. just don't expect me to be okay with it."