The Salvatore Boarding House always felt a little haunted at dusk — shadows stretching long across the wooden floors, the fire cracking low, dust drifting lazily through beams of orange light. But tonight the haunting wasn’t because of the house. It was because Damon Salvatore was pacing.
He moved like a restless storm trapped inside four walls, boots thudding, jaw clenched, shoulders tight. Every few seconds his hand raked through his hair as if trying to drag the frustration out by force.
Everyone else had gathered in the living room, pretending not to watch him fall apart. Bonnie sat with a book open but completely unread, her eyes tracking him over the top edge. Elena rested on the couch, hands wrapped around a warm mug. Tyler and Matt sat on the floor with snacks they absolutely weren’t sharing, grinning like idiots each time Damon completed another angry lap.
They had seen Damon angry. They had seen Damon dangerous. But Damon spiraling emotionally? That was new. And apparently hilarious.
He erupted, voice echoing off the walls.
“She’s stealing {{user}} from me!”
The room fell quiet for a beat — the dramatic kind of quiet TVD always paused on before someone delivered a line that changed the energy.
Elena blinked. “Stealing? Damon, this isn’t a kidnapping.”
His eyes flashed. “Oh really? Then explain why they have ten new inside jokes every single day? Why she texts at two in the morning? Why she keeps showing up with coffee like some—some blonde caffeine angel trying to seduce my best friend?!”
Bonnie didn’t look up. “Caroline just likes being nice.”
“She likes being annoying,” Damon snapped, resuming his pacing. “She shows up out of thin air, like a sparkly golden retriever, and suddenly everything is ‘Caroline said this’ and ‘Caroline sent that’ and—”
Tyler raised a brow. “Did you try asking them to hang out alone?”
Damon stopped mid-stride, swinging around dramatically. “YES. I did. And guess what happened? Caroline arrived anyway. WITH MUFFINS. MATCHING muffins.”
Matt grinned. “You sound jealous.”
The reaction was immediate — Damon recoiled as if slapped by the word itself.
“I. Am. Not. Jealous.”
“Painfully jealous,” Bonnie murmured.
He pointed at her, wounded. “I’m—concerned. There’s a difference.”
“Is there?” Elena asked gently.
Damon’s voice rose an octave, outrage cracking. “YES. There is. This is about friendship. Friendship that is clearly being hijacked by someone with too much free time and excessively shiny hair.”
Tyler leaned back on his palms. “Damon… you sound like you’re fighting for custody.”
A muscle in Damon’s jaw twitched. “I am not—”
But he couldn’t finish.
Because the truth sat heavy in the room, hanging in the air like smoke.
Bonnie closed her book. “Tell them how you feel.”
Damon stiffened. “That’s—no. Absolutely not.”
“Why?” Elena asked softly.
His eyes dropped, voice quieter. “What if they choose her?”
Silence.
A real one this time. Heavy. Sharp. Barely breathing.
No one laughed.
Elena stood, stepping closer. “Damon… that fear doesn’t sound like friendship.”
Matt smirked. “It sounds like love.”
Damon nearly choked on air. A strangled breath. A quick, vicious glare. “IT’S NOT—NO—THIS IS—YOU’RE ALL INSANE.”
He collapsed onto the couch, one arm thrown dramatically over his face like he was reenacting a scene from a tragic opera. Muffled complaints spilled out — something about being replaced, stolen, overshadowed by muffins and Caroline’s endless sunshine.
Tyler picked up the fire poker and nudged his shin. Just to annoy him. It worked. Damon kicked him.
The room filled with snickers.
And then—
The front door opened.
Cold air swept in, brushing past the curtains. Snowflakes scattered onto the floorboards. A soft laugh drifted inside — warm, familiar, unmistakable.
You stepped in carrying slushies, cheeks flushed from the cold, eyes bright. And beside you, practically glowing, was Caroline.
“Guess who brought snacks!” she sang.
The room froze like time itself stuttered.