the grill was too loud, too bright, and smelled entirely too much like cheap grease and desperation. damon sat at the far end of the bar, his fingers tracing the rim of a crystal glass filled with amber bourbon. he wasn’t looking at the crowd. he was looking at you.

you were standing near the pool tables, the soft curves of your silhouette highlighted by the neon beer signs. you looked radiant, even if you were currently trapped in a conversation with elijah mikaelson. the original was leaning in, his hand hovering near the small of your back in a way that made damon’s jaw ache from clenching it.

"you're burning a hole through his suit," stefan’s voice drifted over, but damon didn't even blink.

"i'm wondering if the silk is flame retardant," damon muttered, finally tossing back the rest of his drink.

he stood up, his leather jacket creaking as he shouldered through the throng of people. he didn't care about being subtle. subtlety was for people who didn't have a century of repressed longing clawing at their insides. he reached the table just as elijah was saying something that made you let out a soft, breathy laugh. the kind of sound that usually belonged to damon alone.

"elijah," damon drawled, his smirk sharp enough to draw blood. "don't you have a historical landmark to polish? or a neck to snap? {{user}} and i actually have things to discuss. family business."

elijah’s dark eyes narrowed, his expression remaining maddeningly calm. "{{user}} and i were just discussing the gala, damon. i believe he is capable of deciding who he wishes to speak with."

you looked between them, your breath hitching. "damon, it's fine. we were just talking."

"right. talking," damon stepped closer, effectively crowding into your space, his electric blue eyes locking onto yours with a terrifying intensity. he could smell the faint scent of your cologne, the heat radiating off your skin. "well, the 'talking' is over. i need a drink that doesn't taste like ancient history."

he grabbed your hand, his thumb brushing over your knuckles in a possessive arc before he started leading you toward the exit. once the cool night air of mystic falls hit your faces, you yanked your arm back, stopping on the sidewalk.

"what is wrong with you?" you demanded, your voice trembling with a mix of anger and something else you wouldn't admit. "why do you care who i talk to, damon? it’s not like we’re... anything."

damon spun around, his boots clicking sharply against the pavement. he slammed his glass down on a nearby brick ledge, the sound echoing in the quiet street.

"we aren't 'anything' because you're too busy playing house with a suit-wearing original who wants to put you in a glass case," he snapped, stepping into your personal space until you were forced back against the cool brick wall. he leaned in, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous growl. "i'm the one who actually knows your favorite color isn't blue. it's the color of the sky right before a storm."

the air between you turned electric, heavy with the weight of things unsaid.

"damon..." you whispered, your eyes searching his.

"don't. just... go back to your noble original," he said, his gaze dropping to your lips for a fraction of a second before he pulled away, the mask of indifference sliding back into place. "i'm fine being the bad guy."