The first twenty-four hours were always the worst. Damon knew it, had seen it a hundred times before—bloodlust, confusion, the crawl of death still clinging to the skin like a second coat. He just hadn’t expected to care this time. Usually he’d walk away, wash his hands of it, pretend it wasn’t his problem. But he couldn’t. Not with you.

You hadn’t asked for this. Hell, you hadn’t even really stood a chance. Damon hadn’t meant to kill you—really, he hadn’t. But intent didn’t erase the reality. You’d been on the floor, lifeless, and then his blood in your system did the rest. And now? Now he was stuck with you.

“Alright, sunshine, rule number one—don’t touch anything that breathes unless you wanna end up with a stake full of vervain.”

His hand closed around your wrist, tugging you down the hallway of the Boarding House with far less gentleness than he probably should’ve mustered. You stumbled after him, wide-eyed, barefoot, still trembling from the hunger scratching at your ribs. Damon didn’t slow down.

He kicked open a door with his boot and practically shoved you inside, shutting it behind him with a sigh like you’d personally ruined his night. Which, in a way, you had.

“Welcome to your new reality,” he drawled, leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed. “You’re dead, you’re undead, you’re—” his eyes flicked up and down your figure, a shadow of guilt sliding through them before his mask slipped back into place, “—a real mess. But don’t worry, you’ve got me. Lucky you.”

You whispered his name like a plea, and for a moment, Damon almost broke. Almost. But instead he pinched the bridge of his nose and muttered,

“Look, I didn’t plan this. But here we are. You’re a baby vampire, which means everyone else out there—Stefan, Elena, Caroline—they’d eat you alive. So for now, you’re with me.”

He pushed off the door and moved closer, tipping your chin up with two fingers so you’d look at him. Those blue eyes of his burned sharp, but behind the smirk was something heavier—regret, maybe, or guilt he’d never admit to.

“You’re gonna listen, you’re gonna learn, and if you don’t—well, you won’t last long.”

He grabbed a dagger, sharp and silver, sliced it across his wrist with an almost surgical precision, watched the way blood pooled and trickled down the pale skin of his arm and he held it out.

“Drink.”