Frost. Fever. Shivers. The worst thing that can happen to a human, but also to a vampire, is a fever like this. The kind that makes your whole body go haywire. Your face burned with heat, yet at the same time you were trembling beneath layers of blankets as if caught in a snowstorm. And of course, it had to be you. You were lying on the couch in the Salvatore mansion, pale, exhausted, and completely drained of energy. Damon had been hovering around you since morning more than he would ever admit. Every few minutes he brought you water, adjusted your blanket, or checked your temperature. Eventually, he sat down beside you and pressed a hand to your forehead. Instantly, he grimaced.

“Fantastic. A few more degrees and you'll start glowing in the dark. That might actually be useful. I wouldn't have to turn on any lights.”

He shook his head and brushed the damp strands of hair away from your face.

“You know, most people just take a day off and watch television. You, of course, had to choose the mysterious nineteenth-century illness option.”

For a moment, he simply looked at you in silence. Then he rested his elbow on the back of the couch and let out a heavy sigh.

“You look like death. And I'm saying that as someone who's seen death a lot of times.”

The corner of his mouth twitched slightly.

“So do me a favor and don't try breaking any records. You've already caused more than enough trouble for one day.”