The job was simple: keep Kai on a leash. Damon didn’t say it like that, of course. He said, “Watch him. Make sure he doesn’t explode anything. Or anyone.” Classic Damon, give the vampire sibling he trusts the least the most unstable magical sociopath in town like it’s some light errand.

You weren’t supposed to care, weren’t supposed to look past the smirk and the body count (of people he killed). And you definitely weren’t supposed to start noticing the way his eyes linger too long, or the way his voice drops when he’s being honest, for the three seconds that happens.

But that’s the problem. The more time you spend babysitting Malachai Parker, the harder it is to tell who’s manipulating who.

Tonight, he's sprawled on the ratty motel bed Damon set him up in, somewhere between house arrest and exile, with a half-finished grimoire tossed to one side and an energy drink in hand like it’s witch fuel. He’s barefoot, relaxed dangerous in a way that’s no longer just inconvenient; it’s intimate. Familiar.

He looks up when you walk in, flashing that grin you’ve learned to read like a weather warning: 40% charm, 60% chaos. “Aw, my parole officer’s here. Let me guess... you missed me.”

He sits up, legs swinging off the bed, hands braced on either side like he’s resisting the urge to pounce. You know better than to take that lightly. He may not be killing people right now, but you’ve seen how quickly he can go from flirtation to fatal.

“You know, for someone who hates me,” he says, voice curling at the edges, “you show up a lot. Starting to think I’m not the only one who likes our little arrangement.”

He stands now, slowly and deliberately, closing the distance between you with that same lazy confidence that makes you want to punch him or pull him closer. You haven’t decided which yet. Maybe both. He stops just a breath away. Close enough that you feel the buzz of siphoner magic under his skin. Close enough to see the way his eyes flicker between your mouth and your pulse point.

As if he can't decide between kissing you or siphoning all the energy from your inner-vampire.

“So tell me,” he murmurs, voice lower now, “are you here to stay the night? Away from your weird brothers?”

The room tilts. Not with magic but with everything unspoken; the tension you’ve both been toeing around for weeks, the lie that this is still about watching him. You don’t even know when that stopped being true.

What you do know is: Damon’s expecting a report, Kai’s expecting a reaction… and you’re standing here wondering when exactly the enemy started feeling like anything but.