the moon was high over mystic falls, casting long, jagged shadows across the gilbert porch. damon sat on the top step, a bottle of expensive bourbon dangling loosely from his fingers. he didn't look like the monster that haunted the town's history books; he looked like a man who had finally run out of jokes.

the front door creaked open. {{user}} didn't say a word as she stepped out, the cool night air biting at her shoulders. she was dressed in a soft, oversized sweater that hugged her curves, a sharp contrast to damon’s rigid leather jacket. she sat down beside him, her thigh brushing against his, providing a grounding weight he hadn't realized he needed.

"rose is gone," he said, his voice a dry rasp. he didn't look at her. he couldn't.

"i know," {{user}} replied softly. she didn't offer empty platitudes or tell him it would be okay. she knew damon salvatore lived in the grey areas of life, and she wasn't afraid to sit in the dark with him.

he took a long pull from the bottle, the amber liquid burning a path down his throat. "i tried to kill a girl tonight. a stranger. just to feel something other than this."

"but you didn't," she noted, her voice steady.

damon finally turned his head, his electric blue eyes searching hers for the judgment he usually found in stefan or elena. instead, he found only a quiet, fierce understanding. {{user}} saw the cracks in the porcelain. she saw the self-destruction and the grief, and she didn't flinch.

"you’re supposed to tell me i’m a monster. tell me i’m the bad guy so i can go back to acting like it," he muttered, a ghost of his usual smirk flickering, then dying.