When Bonnie hears the sounds of pans and the thumping beat of '90s R&B in the distant background, she groans. She was sick, not dying. She had told Caroline countless times that she didn't need to check up on her or make her breakfast. She should've remembered how stubborn the blonde was.
Rolling out of bed, she forgoes her robe and slides her feet into her bunny slippers. She crosses her arms, hoping to look as stern as possible, and tells herself that she's not gonna fall for any puppy dog eyes; she was fine and she did not need Caroline to take care of her.
Before she gets to the end of the hallway she's already speaking, "Caroline I don't need you to—"
Instead of a bubbling blonde head, she sees a dark dancing one.
"Damon?" She asks.
He whips around, a bottle of bourbon in one hand and a spatula in the other, "What are you doing out of bed? Blondie said you like to sleep in."
Did he call her? Why? And was he making breakfast for her? How did he even get in her house?
She shakes her head at him, "What are you doing here, Damon?"
He plates the pancakes as he responds, "Making breakfast, what does it look like I'm doing?"
This was bothering her. If he needed something from her, he could just ask for it, he didn't need to pretend to be nice or pretend to be her friend. She could take care of herself, and even if she needed a caretaker, he'd be the last person she'd choose.
"Why?" she asks, mind buzzing with the million other questions she needs to know the answer to.
"Well," he goes over to the fridge and pulls out a carton of orange juice, "Barbie said you were sick and that she wanted to take care of you, but she knew you were gonna get all defensive, so I offered to help."
Defensive? What does that even mean? A tiny version of her in the back of her mind is exploding at the idea that he actually cares about her. A bigger version realizes who she's talking about.
She decides for a dry remark in response, "Gotta keep your resident witch healthy so she can get you out of any trouble you get yourself into, huh?"
He walks over to her, hands on shoulders and pushing into the direction of her room, "More like: gotta keep my resident witch healthy, 'cause I like having her around."
Her heart flutters at the action and that dumb feeling is back. It's the same thudding in her chest and surge in her veins when he compliments her or even touches her like he's doing now. It's been happening for the past week and she hates it. She hates the fact that she, just like a million other girls before her, is falling under Damon Salvatore's spell. The worst part about it is that she knows he can hear the uptick in her heartbeat.
What she doesn't know is why he hasn't commented on it in a true Damon Salvatore fashion.
"Now you're gonna get back in bed, and I'm gonna get the breakfast that I, so kindly, made for you."
He punctuates his statement with a light tap on her nose and leaves.
There was no possible way he was doing this out of the kindness of his heart. Why would he be nice to her? Of all people? They hated each other—or at least they used to. Now, Bonnie wasn't totally sure where they stood with each other. She knew that for her, it had always been a strong dislike that recently turned into a less-strong tolerate, not taking these dumb feelings into consideration. But he was so unreadable. One minute he could be flirting with her and the next he's obsessing about El—
"Why aren't you in bed?" he asks.
Bonnie rolls her eyes and slides under her covers, sitting with her back against the headboard, and shooting Damon a look, "Happy?"
"Very," he smiles. He places the food next to her and hands her a fork, "If I knew it'd be this easy to get you into a bed I would've asked a long time ago."
With another eye roll she starts to eat the pancakes, which are actually pretty good, she's not gonna lie and notices him turning on the TV. He was always like that, flirting with people like it was nothing. She only asks what he's doing when he lays down next to her and snatches a piece of bacon off of the plate.
"Laying with you, what does it look like?"
She squints, "Why?"
He stops for a second and looks at her quizzically, "Why are you asking so many questions?"
"Why do you answer my questions with another question?"
"Bon-Bon," Damon says, closing his eyes before continuing, "I'm here to take care of you, I can't just leave you alone."
Her response is quiet, but immediate, "I didn't ask you to take care of me. And if Caroline did, you know you don't have to, right?"
"I'm here cause I want to be; now shut up with your questions, eat your breakfast, and help me pick a movie."
She still isn't sure she believes him but stops asking questions anyway.
Bonnie has no idea how much time has passed. She also doesn't know why, but now that they're laying side-by-side and she's listening to him complain about how unrealistic Twilight is, she can't help but get caught up in the domesticity of it all. Like they're a married couple, enjoying their day off because their kids are at a sleepover or something.
She shakes her head. Did she just imagine her and Damon? Married?
All this time with him was getting to her head; maybe it's the medicine.
"All I'm saying is, their depictions of vampires is literally insane. They sparkle in the sunlight? Really?"
She snorts. He looks kind of cute when he complains about movies.
Cute? Yep, this medicine was definitely getting to her.
"You're the one who decided on Twilight, not me," Bonnie shrugs.
Damon glares at her, "Well it was either this or that weird musical you wanted to watch."
"Hairspray is a masterpiece," she argued.
"John Travolta is in drag," he said.
"And he kills it," she replies as-matter-of-factly.
He drops the discussion with a smile and she doesn't fight her own. He basically grumbles what he says next, but she's pretty sure she would've asked him to repeat it regardless.
"What did you just say?" she with a small smile.
Damon pinches the bridge of his nose dramatically, and sighs, "I said, we can watch it later if you want."
Bonnie's stare breaks into a full smile, reaching her eyes, and she swears she can see his look soften. She hoped he was fully aware that he couldn't take this back because she was holding him to this.
She snatches the remote from him, "Can later be now?"
"Absolutely not," he responds immediately, reaching to snatch the remote back. Bonnie knows he could use his vampire speed to take it from her easily, she wonders why he's deciding against it. Maybe there's a small part of him that kind of misses the simplicity of being human.
When she holds the remote to the center of her chest and turns away from him, she feels his front against her back and his arms around her torso. It felt nice to have him around her like that, she kind of didn't want him to move. Their fumbling hands tickle her and she tries to fight the laugh that wants to bubble out of her. Bonnie turns to look at Damon over her shoulder, bringing their hands to a halt and their faces within centimeters of each other.
Before she can even process her feelings, his lips are on hers. Her eyes widen, way more than they probably should have, but Damon Salvatore is kissing her. Damon. Salvatore. She thinks it makes sense for her to be a little surprised. It's gentle, something she would have never expected from him, but her train of thought stops when he pulls away. It's then when she realizes she never kissed him back.
He closes his eyes, blushing furiously and looking almost—embarrassed? "I-I'm sorry, I shouldn't have, uh…"
She doesn't remember a time where he's ever been speechless. Something in her heart warms at being one of the only people to have done it.
Damon starts to turn away, but she responds, quietly, "No—I mean—it's, okay."
His eyebrows meet in the middle of his forehead so she clarifies, "I mean, like, if you wanted to—I don't know—do that again…I wouldn't be opposed."
He wastes no time kissing her again. This time it's more sure and intimate like he never wants to stop kissing her and it makes her smile. She shifts to face him and melts, relaxing into his body and kissing him back. When they pull away she's out of breath and his trademark smirk is back on his face. She wants to kiss it away.
"Maybe I should take care of you more, Witchy," he whispers, so low that if she hadn't been right in front of him, she wouldn't have heard it. As he talks he pulls her into his lap and begins to toy with the hem of her pajama shorts.
She smiles, "Shut up, Damon."