Life in the Salvatore boarding house had something absurd about it ever since Stefan Salvatore left, leaving the two of you alone with a silence that was never truly quiet, because you and Damon had been functioning for years like a pair that had never learned moderation — too loud, too intense, too… alive for people who had lived for over a century, as if every moment had to be tasted stronger than it should.

Who would have thought that somewhere around the early 1900s something between you would even begin to exist, only for you to spend decades trying to run from each other, just to keep crossing paths again like something stubbornly kept pulling you back together; Mystic Falls two years ago was supposed to be just another coincidence, the last one. a bar. a glance held a second too long, a few too many words and his crooked smile as he leaned closer,

“You say it’s the last time… and yet you always come back, like you miss trouble.”

The chemistry between you had never disappeared, if anything it had only grown stronger over the years apart, until you stayed, permanently, taking your place in his world as if it had always belonged to you.

A cold morning slipped through the curtains, the light irritating your eyes as you stood in the kitchen, leaning against the counter, making yourself a drink more out of habit than need, just to keep the hunger under control and quiet that familiar tension; you heard him before you saw him, slow steps, no rush, and a moment later he appeared on the stairs, pulling a shirt over his head, his gaze immediately settling on you with that amused glint.

“Really? Drowning your hunger in alcohol? And here I thought you liked biting me.”