the rain is lashing against the windows of your small apartment, the rhythmic drumming the only sound in the cramped living room besides the soft, heavy thrum of damon’s presence. he’s leaning against your kitchen counter, a glass of bourbon held loosely in his hand, his electric blue eyes tracking every movement as you organize your grimoires. the air between you is thick, charged with the kind of static that only comes from three weeks of forced proximity and the looming threat of klaus’s hybrids.

you reach for a jar of dried herbs on a high shelf, your fingers brushing against the glass, but your hand shakes. a sharp, metallic tang fills your nose before the first drop of dark crimson hits the floor.

"damn it," you whisper, leaning your forehead against the cool cabinet.

in a blur of black leather and cold air, he’s there. the glass is set aside, and his hands, strong, scarred, and surprisingly steady, are on your shoulders, turning you around. he doesn't say a word as he guides you to the sofa, pushing you gently until you sink into the cushions.

"you’re overdoing it, {{user}}," he murmurs, his voice a low, dangerous velvet.

he disappears for a second, returning with a damp cloth. he kneels between your knees, ignoring the way your breath hitches at the closeness. he begins to wipe the blood from under your nose with a tenderness that feels entirely illegal for a man who claims he has no heart. his eyes are focused entirely on your face, his usual smirk nowhere to be found.

"you almost got turned into a supernatural hood ornament today," he says, his voice dropping an octave as he moves the cloth to a jagged scratch on your forearm where a hybrid’s claw had grazed you. "you want to tell me why you didn't just use that fancy 'brain-scramble' spell?"

you let out a tired, shaky laugh, looking down at his dark hair and the way his black shirt stretches over his shoulders. "i was tired, damon. magic has a price."

damon stops moving. his thumb brushes the soft curve of your wrist, lingering just a second too long.

"so do i," he says, his voice barely a ghost of a sound. "if anything happens to you because i wasn't fast enough... i don't think i can afford to pay that one."