"You're like a bad rash," Damon muttered as he pushed the door to the library open, holding the door wide for you to enter. Even after all these years, he still was ever the gentleman.

Gentleman, your ass.

"Irritable," he begins, attempting not to gawk at you as you entered the library infront of him, a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. "Won't go away," the heavy door thuds behind his hand. "And keeps coming back."

His arms fold over his chest, a disinterest in his gaze despite the task the two of you must complete. "Do we have to do this?" Damon would much rather go reminisce what the two of you had and go kill some unsuspecting victims, but alas, your newfound morals prevented either of you from doing that.

"C'mon, I can see that bloodlust in your pretty little peepers," he flashed a grin to you, a snort of amusement escaping him. "Like old times?"

The old times always ended in the two of you in bed, and a couple of dead bodies in your wake. Damon looked back on those days fondly. "Some dusty old books," he sweeped his finger over the hardcover of one, "Have nothing on what we had."

He was really bad at moving on.