Sassy Miss Damon Salvatore

by durouxkiller

Summary:

Damon breaks a witch's heart and gets cursed into a woman. Unfortunately for everyone, he's still Damon.

Natural by Imagine Dragons

....

 

Damon Salvatore had seen a lot of weird in his time - ghosts, gods, hybrids, a whole buffet of supernatural nonsense - but this? This was new.

He stood in the middle of the boarding house living room, staring at his reflection in the mirror above the fireplace. Dark hair still tousled just right, same sharp cheekbones, same pouty lips-only now they were attached to a woman.

A very unimpressed woman.

His T-shirt hung halfway to his knees, jeans loose enough to slide down his hips. He looked like he'd raided his own closet and lost a fight with gravity.

"Son of a bitch," Damon muttered, voice higher but still carrying that familiar rasp. He tugged at his shirt, glaring down. "I look like a groupie at my own concert."

Behind him came the unmistakable sound of Stefan trying - and failing - not to laugh.

"Don't," Damon warned, spinning on him. "Don't even think about it."

Stefan leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, smirk firmly in place. "I'm sorry, but-" He broke off, laughter spilling out anyway. "You-Damon-you have boobs."

"Oh, thank you, Doctor Obvious. Want to write me a prescription for humiliation while you're at it?"

Stefan wiped at his eyes, still grinning. "What did you do this time?"

"I may have broken up with a witch," Damon said flatly. "If you can call it a breakup. I told her she was clingy, she told me I'd regret it. Next thing I know, I wake up like-" He waved down his body. "Like this."

"You really shouldn't lead people on," Stefan said, ever the voice of moral reason-though it was hard to take him seriously when his shoulders were still shaking with laughter.

"Oh, spare me the lecture, Mother Teresa. I didn't lead anyone on. I flirted, she flirted back, sparks flew, magic literally happened, and now..." Damon gestured again. "Now I'm starring in my own low-budget body swap horror flick."

Stefan chuckled. "At least you're still you on the inside."

"Yeah, and apparently cursed with empathy for every woman who's ever worn skinny jeans," Damon muttered, yanking at his waistband again. "Do you have any idea how uncomfortable these are? I can't even button them. I need a belt. Or a miracle."

"Maybe Bonnie can fix it."

"Yeah, great idea. Because Bonnie loves helping me clean up my messes. She'll probably frame this as karmic balance." Damon rolled his eyes, then paused to stare back at the mirror again. "Although..." He tilted his head. "Not the worst face I've ever worn."

Stefan groaned. "You're impossible."

"Please. If I have to be stuck like this, I'm at least gonna appreciate the craftsmanship." Damon smirked at his reflection. "That witch might've hated me, but she had taste."

Stefan sighed, shaking his head with reluctant amusement. "I'll call Bonnie."

"You do that, little brother. And maybe grab me a hair tie while you're at it. This stuff's getting in my eyes."

Stefan turned to leave, still chuckling under his breath. "You know, I'm never letting you live this down."

"Yeah, yeah," Damon called after him, deadpan. "Laugh it up now. When I get my body back, I'm swapping your shampoo for vervain."

....

The door creaked open before Damon could tell whoever it was to get lost. Typical Mikaelson courtesy - meaning none.

"Honestly," he muttered, not even looking up from his glass. "Does nobody in this town understand the concept of privacy anymore?"

Elijah was first through the doorway, all composure and tailored calm, followed by Klaus, whose eyes swept the room with casual suspicion.

They both stopped.

There, sprawled on the couch like sin itself wrapped in one of Damon's shirts - far too big on the smaller frame - sat a dark-haired woman, one leg tucked under the other, surrounded by half-empty bottles of bourbon.

'Her' eyes - sharp, blue, irritated - flicked toward them.

"If you're selling something," 'she' said, voice smooth but carrying that unmistakable bite, "I'm not buying. The boarding house is closed for inquiries, tours, and brotherly drama, starting today."

Klaus blinked. Once. Twice. Then his lips twitched. "Damon?"

The woman groaned, rolling 'her' eyes - long lashes, same infuriated impatience. "Give the man a medal. You're the first genius to figure it out." Damon gestured lazily with his glass. "Yes, it's me. Yes, I'm a girl. No, I don't want to talk about it."

Elijah's composure faltered for exactly half a second. "You are-" He cleared his throat, eyes narrowing as though he could reason it away. "-remarkably... transformed."

"Try cursed," Damon said flatly, tossing back another sip. "Some witch with trust issues didn't appreciate my feedback on her personality."

Klaus's grin widened. "And what feedback was that?"

"That she was clingy." Damon shot him a look. "Apparently, honesty's not as sexy as I thought."

Klaus chuckled low in his throat, stepping closer, studying the curve of Damon's jaw - softer now, but still carrying that unmistakable defiance. "I must admit, you wear it... surprisingly well."

"Oh, bite me," Damon snapped.

"Careful," Klaus murmured, eyes glinting, "you might find me tempted."

Elijah shot his brother a warning look, though his gaze lingered on Damon longer than it should have. He hadn't meant to stare - but there was something disarming about seeing him like this: sharp wit wrapped in unexpected elegance. The contradiction intrigued him more than he cared to admit.

Damon noticed. "What? You too, Tall, Dark, and Judgmental? Don't you start. Stefan's out fetching Bonnie, and until she un-hexes me, the answer to whatever question you're here for is no."

Klaus laughed quietly. "We were merely passing by, hoping for a civil word-"

"Yeah, well, civility left with my Y chromosome. Try next week." Damon slumped back into the couch, swirling his drink. "Now go haunt someone else's house."

Elijah, after a beat, inclined his head. "We'll... return when you're feeling more yourself."

"I am myself," Damon said pointedly. "Just in better packaging."

Klaus's grin turned wicked. "That, love, is debatable."

Damon narrowed his eyes. "Finish that sentence, and I'll stab you with my heel."

"You're not wearing any," Klaus noted.

"I'll find some."

Klaus chuckled as Elijah ushered him toward the door, though his gaze lingered one last time - amusement giving way to something slower, sharper, curious.

And Damon, left alone again, let out a long breath, muttering into his glass, "Next person who knocks, I swear, I'm drinking them."

....

The front door slammed shut not long after the Mikaelsons left. Damon sank deeper into the couch, dragging a hand down his face. "Fantastic. Humiliation tour's officially complete. Who's next, the mailman?"

Bonnie dropped her bag on the coffee table, giving him a look that suggested she'd already hit her limit for the day. "Before you start, yes, I heard. And no, this isn't something I can just snap my fingers and fix."

Damon squinted up at her. "Really? Because the witch who did this managed it with one melodramatic hand wave and a grudge. No tools, no fancy chanting, no billable hours."

Bonnie crossed her arms. "Yeah, well, some of us actually know what we're doing. You want me to undo her spell, I need to figure out what she used. That takes time, ingredients, and a lot more patience than I'm getting right now."

He shot her a flat look. "So, what-you're telling me I have to stay like this until you decide you're in the mood?"

Bonnie raised an eyebrow, her tone ice-cool. "Do you want my help or not, Damon? Because the only reason I'm here is that Elena wouldn't stop begging me to save your sorry ass."

That shut him up - for about three seconds. He huffed, crossed his arms, and muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like "I miss the days when witches came with instruction manuals."

Bonnie smirked. "You done?"

"For now."

"Good." She turned toward her bag, rummaging. "I can lend you some clothes if you want. You're about one dramatic gesture away from flashing someone."

Damon's head snapped up, blue eyes narrowing. "I'd rather die."

Bonnie smiled sweetly. "Suit yourself."

From behind them, Stefan sighed - the sound of a man trying not to lose it. "Okay, enough. Bonnie, focus on the spell. I'll... handle the wardrobe situation."

Bonnie shrugged, tugging her jacket tighter. "Fine by me. The less I have to think about Damon in my clothes, the better."

Damon pointed a finger at her. "You know, that was unnecessary."

"Actually," Bonnie said, glancing at him with mock thoughtfulness, "that one felt pretty necessary."

Stefan pinched the bridge of his nose. "You two are impossible."

"Correction," Damon said, raising his glass again, "I'm impossible. She's just stubborn."

Bonnie's lips quirked. "And somehow, that's why you need me."

He grunted, but didn't argue.

As Bonnie bent over her notes, muttering about lunar alignments and magical threads, Stefan grabbed his jacket and keys. "Try not to make her quit before I get back," he said, already halfway out the door.

Damon waved dismissively. "No promises."

The door clicked shut behind him, leaving Damon and Bonnie in tense, bourbon-scented silence.

After a beat, Bonnie said without looking up, "You know, this might take a few days."

Damon groaned. "Kill me now."

"Not an option," she said. "Elena would cry."

He tilted his head, resigned. "Figures. Always someone to ruin my fun."

....

Morning sunlight poured into the boarding house like it owned the place - which, technically, no one had argued against yet. Damon stood in the middle of the living room, arms crossed, wearing what could only be described as a floral assault.

"What is this?" he demanded, staring at his reflection in the glass cabinet.

Stefan didn't even look up from his phone. "Clothes."

"These are not clothes, Stefan. These are... historical artifacts. Did you rob a grandma or raid a church bazaar?" Damon held out the skirt like it had personally offended him. "I mean, what century are we dressing for?"

Stefan finally looked up, exasperated. "You said you wanted something that fits."

"Fits? Sure. So would a potato sack. At least that has range." Damon gestured wildly. "I'm not walking around like I'm auditioning for Little House on the Prairie: Vampire Edition."

Stefan sighed, the way only a younger brother could. "You care about how you look when it's not even your body?"

Damon narrowed his eyes. "Excuse me?"

"I'm just saying," Stefan said, standing, voice clipped, "this is temporary. You'll be back to your regular narcissistic self soon enough. Maybe try not to obsess over fashion while we're fixing you."

"Oh, I'm sorry," Damon shot back. "Forgive me for having standards, Stefan. Just because you live your life in flannel doesn't mean the rest of us have to suffer for it."

They glared at each other - the kind of silent, simmering standoff that only ended when the front door swung open.

"Well," came a familiar amused drawl, "looks like I arrived just in time for the morning bickering."

Klaus strolled in like he owned the place, two sleek shopping bags dangling from one hand. His gaze flicked from Stefan to Damon - then lingered, just a little too long, on Damon.

Damon groaned. "Great. Perfect. The peanut gallery's here."

Klaus smirked. "Relax, sweetheart. I come bearing gifts." He set the bags on the table. "You were clearly in dire need of assistance."

Damon shot him a flat look. "You went shopping for me?"

"I'm a man of many talents," Klaus said simply. "Including taste."

Stefan folded his arms, suspicious. "Why are you even here, Klaus?"

"Call it curiosity." Klaus's smile curved, slow and knowing. "Wanted to see how our dear Damon was adjusting."

"Poorly," Damon muttered, grabbing the nearest bag. He peeked inside - then froze. His brows lifted, just slightly. "Huh."

Stefan frowned. "What?"

Damon smirked, holding up a sleek black top and a pair of fitted jeans that actually looked decent. "What do you know... the hybrid's got style." He turned to Stefan, mock serious. "Take notes, brother."

Klaus chuckled, clearly enjoying himself. "You're welcome."

"Don't get smug," Damon said, already heading for the stairs. "I'm just not desperate enough to die looking like a doily."

As his footsteps faded upstairs, Stefan pinched the bridge of his nose. "You realize you just made it worse."

Klaus's grin widened. "On the contrary, I've made my day far more interesting."

....

Footsteps echoed from upstairs, light but purposeful. Klaus glanced up first, his smirk settling into something slower - less amusement, more... intrigue.

Damon descended the staircase like he'd just remembered who he was. The fitted jeans hugged his frame, the black top sharp against his pale skin. His hair, slightly tousled, fell just past his jawline - annoyingly perfect.

He wasn't trying to be confident - he was confident. That much, apparently, survived any spell.

"Well?" Damon asked, hands on his hips, eyebrow raised. "Do I look less like Grandma Salvatore now?"

Klaus's mouth curved, silent appreciation in his gaze. He didn't say anything - though the flicker in his eyes said plenty.

Stefan exhaled, dramatic and long-suffering. "You know what? I've decided - you as a woman are ten times more annoying than you were as a man."

Damon's eyes snapped to him. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me," Stefan said, voice flat. "Same ego, more attitude."

"Yeah? And you're still the same wet blanket, just with worse taste in clothes," Damon shot back.

Stefan gestured vaguely toward him. "This is exactly what I mean."

Damon stepped closer, folding his arms, chin tilted in challenge. "Careful, Stefan. You're dangerously close to admitting I pull it off better than you expected."

"Oh, for the love of-"

"-Well," came a new voice, "this is... new."

They all turned.

Bonnie stood in the doorway, one brow arched, Elena and Caroline just behind her - jaw slightly slack, eyes wide in disbelief.

Elena blinked once. Twice. "Damon?"

Caroline's jaw dropped. "Oh my god!"

Damon sighed. "If I have to confirm my identity one more time this week, I'm charging for it."

Bonnie smirked, crossing her arms. "Well, at least you're comfortable enough to make it fashion."

Damon pointed at her. "Don't start."

Klaus, still lounging by the couch, looked far too entertained. "Oh, by all means, let them. It's not every day we witness Damon Salvatore in his... elevated form."

Caroline shot Klaus a warning look. "You're not helping."

"Not trying to, love."

Stefan muttered under his breath, "Of course not."

Bonnie pinched the bridge of her nose, sighing. "Okay, everyone stop talking before I turn someone else into something."

"That a threat or an offer?" Damon quipped.

"Keep it up and find out."

Elena couldn't help it - she laughed. And for a second, even Damon cracked a grin, the absurdity of it all settling in.

Klaus's gaze lingered a moment longer than it should have, before he looked away, amused but thoughtful.

Stefan just shook his head. "I miss when my biggest problem was your drinking."

Damon smirked. "Oh, come on, brother. Admit it - life's never boring when I'm around."

"'Boring' isn't the word I'd use," Stefan muttered.

Bonnie rolled her eyes. "Let's just fix you before this gets worse."

"Too late," Damon said with a smirk, grabbing his bourbon again. "It already has."

....

Bonnie's books and herbs had taken over the coffee table, the faint smell of sage mixing with Damon's preferred scent of bourbon. Candles flickered, half-melted, while Elena hovered nearby trying to look useful and failing adorably. Caroline already left the house.

Damon leaned against the doorway, arms folded, watching them all with a look somewhere between boredom and mild dread. "You know," he said, "watching witches do homework wasn't exactly my idea of an evening."

Bonnie didn't look up. "You're welcome to leave if you're going to be unhelpful."

"Already planning on it." Damon straightened, grabbing his jacket off the armrest. "I need air. And a refill."

Elena frowned. "Damon-"

"Relax. I'm not running off to Vegas," he said, already halfway toward the door. "Just the Grill. It's called self-care."

Stefan appeared in the doorway before he could escape, arms crossed, tone pure older-brother exhaustion. "You're not going alone."

Damon groaned. "You're kidding me."

Klaus, who had been leaning casually against the stair banister the entire time, smirked. "As luck would have it, I happen to be going that direction myself."

Stefan's eyes narrowed. "Of course you are."

"Don't worry, brother mine," Damon said, patting Stefan's shoulder with exaggerated sympathy. "If the big bad hybrid tries anything, I'll scream."

"Damon," Stefan started, "just-be careful, okay? Don't talk too loud, don't draw attention, don't-"

Damon rolled his eyes so hard it looked like it hurt. "Stefan. You realize I've been doing this for over a century, right? I think I can handle buying bourbon without supervision."

"You're in a different body now," Stefan pressed, irritation edging his tone. "People will stare, you might get-"

"Oh my God, are we really doing this?" Damon groaned, then turned, grabbed Klaus's arm, and tugged him toward the door. "Come on, Hybrid Barbie, before he gives me the talk about stranger danger."

Klaus laughed under his breath, letting himself be pulled along. "As you wish, love."

"Damon!" Stefan called after them. "Don't do anything stupid!"

"Define stupid!" Damon yelled back, not even turning around.

The door shut behind them with a satisfying click.

For a long moment, Stefan just stood there, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "He's impossible."

Bonnie smirked, flipping a page in her grimoire. "You just figuring that out?"

Elena giggled softly. "Honestly, it's kind of nice to see them like that again."

Stefan sighed, resigned. "Until it blows up in my face."

Bonnie glanced up, deadpan. "It's Damon. It always does."

....

The Mystic Grill hadn't changed. Same chatter, same scuffed floors, same smell of fries, whiskey, and mild regret.

Damon slipped into the familiar dimness, heels of his boots clicking softly against the wood. A few heads turned - men glancing twice, women sizing her up - but Damon didn't spare them a look. He just made a beeline for the bar like he owned the place.

Klaus followed at an easy pace, his usual half-smirk playing at his mouth, clearly entertained by the spectacle.

"Feeling at home, are we?" he murmured as Damon slid onto a stool.

Damon flagged the bartender. "Two bourbons. Make one a double."

Then, with a dry glance at Klaus: "Actually, make both doubles. He's paying."

The bartender looked between them, hesitated, then nodded and walked off.

Klaus chuckled, leaning against the counter beside him. "You seem awfully comfortable, given the circumstances."

"Adapt or die," Damon said, flipping a coaster between his fingers. "Besides, what's a curse without a drink to complain over?"

Klaus tilted his head. "I must say, you wear it well, love. Though I imagine your ego has taken a bit of a beating."

"Please," Damon scoffed. "If anything, it's given me new perspective. Like how most men are apparently allergic to not staring." He threw a glare toward a table of college guys who immediately looked away. "Guess now I know how Elena feels."

Klaus's eyes glimmered. "You sound almost... self-aware. How novel."

Damon shot him a look. "Don't start. I'm one drink away from turning you into a therapy session."

Klaus smirked, sipping his bourbon when it arrived. "Tempting offer."

Damon clinked his own glass against his. "To surviving bad spells and worse company."

Klaus raised his glass in return. "To both suiting you rather perfectly."

Damon's brows lifted. "You really can't help yourself, can you?"

"I've been accused of worse."

They drank. The silence between them was comfortable in the way that made Klaus grin - because Damon wasn't avoiding him. For once, he seemed relaxed. His laugh - lighter, unguarded - carried through the low hum of the bar, drawing more attention than he realized.

Klaus noticed every bit of it - the easy grace, the sharp tongue softened just slightly by amusement. He didn't speak it aloud, but the thought was there all the same: this form suited Damon's fire too well, though he feared the original Damon was even better.

Damon set his glass down, catching Klaus watching him. "You're staring," he said bluntly.

"Am I?"

"Yes, and it's weird. Stop it."

Klaus's smile deepened. "You'll forgive me if I'm merely intrigued. You've managed to make disaster look rather... enchanting."

Damon snorted. "You flirting with me right now?"

"Would it matter if I were?" Klaus asked smoothly, not missing a beat.

"It'd matter when I throw this drink in your face."

"Then I'd call that progress."

Damon rolled his eyes, but couldn't hide the hint of a smirk tugging at his mouth. "You really don't know when to shut up."

"Oh, I do," Klaus said, tone low. "I just prefer not to."

Damon sighed, finishing his bourbon. "Of course you don't." He stood, motioning for another round. "If I'm going to survive this day, I'm going to need more alcohol and fewer conversations about my... aesthetics."

Klaus chuckled, leaning back as the bartender poured. "You wound me, love. I'm only offering appreciation where it's due."

"Try offering silence instead."

Klaus smiled into his glass. "Never been my strong suit."

Damon grinned despite himself, shaking his head. "Yeah. That's what makes you fun."

....

The night at the Grill had gotten loud - and Damon had gotten louder. Klaus had already counted four empty glasses and a half-finished bottle that Damon insisted "didn't count because technically I didn't pour it."

"Damon," Klaus muttered, voice edging with amusement and exasperation in equal measure, "you've made your point. It's time to go home."

"Home?" Damon slurred, brows lifting as if the word offended him. "No. Home has rules. Stefan has rules. Bonnie has rules. I'm free now, Nik." He pointed dramatically, almost spilling what remained of his drink. "Let me be free."

Klaus sighed, long-suffering. "You're free to walk straight into a wall if you keep drinking like this."

Damon squinted. "You're not as funny as you think you are."

"Nor are you as sober as you think you are," Klaus replied, taking the glass from his hand and placing it on the bar. "Up you get, sweetheart."

Damon groaned but didn't resist too much as Klaus guided him outside. The cool air hit his skin, and he blinked blearily at the night sky. "You know, I think I'm-"

Whatever he was about to say was lost when he stumbled forward-straight into a very solid chest.

Elijah looked down, one brow arching. "Miss," he began, then froze as recognition hit. "Damon?"

Damon tilted his head up, slow and lazy, his grin a little too bright. "Elijah!" he greeted, as if running into him like this was the most natural thing in the world. "You have really nice cheekbones, you know that?"

Before Elijah could answer, Damon's hands were already on his face, squishing his cheeks together like he was testing for ripeness.

Klaus groaned from behind. "Bloody hell-"

He stepped forward and pulled Damon away, a firm hand at his waist. Damon stumbled, landing squarely against Klaus's chest this time. His laugh bubbled up, reckless and warm. "Well, look at that. You both make great pillows."

Klaus's jaw ticked, but there was a twitch of a smile he couldn't quite suppress. "You're impossible."

Elijah straightened his jacket, giving a mild, restrained sigh. "I take it your evening has been... productive."

"If by productive you mean humiliating, then yes," Klaus muttered, keeping an arm locked around Damon as he tried to wriggle free again.

Damon just laughed louder, oblivious to the tension tightening the space between the Mikaelsons. "I'm fine," he declared. "You two just need to stop looking at me like that. I'm not dying, I'm just-" he hiccupped- "having fun."

"Fun," Elijah repeated dryly.

Klaus's gaze flicked to his brother, a silent warning in his eyes. "I'll take it from here."

Elijah inclined his head, but his gaze lingered on Damon - too long, too thoughtful. "Of course."

Klaus didn't miss that, and Damon certainly didn't notice - not when he was still giggling softly against Klaus's chest, his hair brushing the hybrid's chin as he mumbled, "Told you... I'm fine..."

"Right," Klaus said quietly, eyes darkening just a fraction. "Let's get you home, love, before you charm half the town in that state."

And with Damon still laughing softly, Klaus steered him away - one arm steady at his back, the other curled with surprising gentleness around his shoulders.

....

Klaus nudged open the door to Damon's room with his shoulder, carrying a now-unconscious Damon in his arms. He was completely out - head lolling against his chest, soft mumbling that barely made sense.

"Unbelievable," Klaus muttered under his breath, lowering him onto the bed. He stirred just long enough to grumble something that sounded suspiciously like 'don't tell Stefan' before collapsing against the pillow again.

Klaus couldn't help a small huff of laughter. "Trust me, love, I'd rather not."

He tugged the blanket up - more out of reflex than tenderness - then straightened, rolling his shoulders. When he turned, Stefan was in the doorway, a book in hand and an arched brow that screamed older-brother judgment.

"Thanks for bringing him back," Stefan said, closing the book with a soft thud. "He'd probably still be at the Grill if it weren't for you."

Klaus waved a dismissive hand. "Hardly a challenge. He's light as a feather in that form, and far less coordinated."

Stefan sighed, leaning against the doorframe. "Still. You handled him better than I did all day. I've run out of patience, clothes, and bourbon."

Klaus's lips quirked. "Your maternal instincts are showing, Stefan. Careful, or I'll start calling you Mother Salvatore."

Stefan shot him a glare sharp enough to cut glass. "Don't test me, Klaus."

The hybrid chuckled, low and genuine. "You really are amusing when you're protective. No need to fret - he's perfectly fine. Merely drunk, charmingly defiant, and somehow even more of a handful than usual."

Stefan glanced past him at Damon sleeping, a faint smirk tugging at his mouth despite himself. "Yeah. Tell me about it."

Klaus turned to leave, pausing at the doorway. "Get some rest, Stefan. Tomorrow, your brother will have a hangover worthy of an epic poem."

Stefan groaned. "Can't wait."

Klaus's chuckle followed him down the hall, low and pleased, as Damon snored softly behind them - blissfully unaware of the chaos he'd caused.

....

It had been a hell of weeks.

A week of high-pitched complaints, misplaced stares, and far too many people forgetting that Damon Salvatore - regardless of body type - could still ruin their day if he wanted to.

Being stuck as a girl was torture enough. But the real kicker? Everyone around him had gone soft.

Stefan hovered like an overprotective parent, constantly asking if he'd eaten or if the clothes were "comfortable enough." Damon was two sarcastic comments away from snapping. Bonnie, meanwhile, had already tried two reversal spells - both fizzled out with disappointing sparks and an apologetic shrug. And Elena... she just kept giving him that pitying look Damon despised more than anything.

But the worst offenders? The Mikaelsons.

Klaus had gone from amused tormentor to something dangerously close to chivalrous. He kept holding doors open, offering drinks, and - worst of all - calling him love like he was in some Regency novel. Elijah wasn't any better. That calm, composed demeanor had turned oddly attentive. Whenever Damon spoke, Elijah actually listened, eyes thoughtful in that unnerving way that made Damon's stomach twist.

All of it was driving him insane.

He needed a release - something to burn the frustration out of his system before he tore the Boarding House down brick by brick.

And if Bonnie's next spell didn't work, Damon was pretty sure someone was going to end up compelled, bitten, or both.

....

The house had gone unusually quiet.

Bonnie had dragged Stefan and Elena out to gather more ingredients for another spell attempt, leaving Damon and Elijah behind. Klaus had disappeared hours ago - probably brooding somewhere dramatic. Normally, Damon wouldn't care. But the absence sat heavier than he expected, and he hated that it did.

He sank into the couch, bourbon glass in hand, sighing. The movement made something small clatter to the floor - his ring.

"Great," he muttered, bending halfway before a shadow crossed the room. Elijah was already there, stooping gracefully to pick it up.

"Allow me," Elijah said softly, straightening.

Damon rolled his eyes. "You really can't help yourself, can you?"

Elijah's lips curved faintly. "Old habits. One does not easily unlearn courtesy."

He stepped closer, holding out the ring. Damon reached for it, but Elijah didn't immediately let go. His gaze lingered - steady, unreadable - before he lifted a hand almost absently, brushing a lock of hair from Damon's face.

It was a small touch. Simple. But it burned.

Damon went still. The air between them tightened, heavy, the kind of quiet that hummed with too much meaning. Elijah's eyes flickered downward, a hint of conflict passing through them. He leaned in slightly, as though pulled by something he didn't quite understand.

That's when Damon snapped.

"I'm not a real girl, Elijah!" he blurted, voice sharp, cracking through the quiet.

Elijah froze - the words hitting harder than any physical shove. For a second, neither of them moved. Then Elijah blinked, stepping back at once, composure returning like a mask sliding into place.

"Forgive me," he said quietly, voice low and taut. "That was... inexcusable. I allowed myself to-" He stopped, exhaling. "It was not my intention to make you uncomfortable."

Damon didn't answer. Couldn't. His chest felt too tight, pulse hammering in his ears. Without another word, he turned and bolted for the stairs, boots heavy against the wood until his door slammed shut.

Elijah stayed where he was, eyes fixed on the spot Damon had stood moments ago. His hand flexed once at his side - as though he still felt the ghost of that soft hair against his fingers - before he turned away, jaw set in quiet self-reproach.

....

The next morning, sunlight was already spilling through the curtains when Damon came downstairs - hair a little messy, expression sharp enough to kill. He'd barely slept, mostly thanks to the memory of Elijah's almost-kiss replaying in his head like some cruel joke.

And of course, the first thing he saw was Klaus, lounging on the couch like he owned the place.

"Where the hell have you been?" Damon demanded, crossing his arms.

Klaus didn't even look up from his drink. "Good morning to you too, love."

Damon huffed. "Don't 'love' me. You disappeared last night."

That got Klaus's attention. He looked up, a slow smirk tugging at his lips. "Were you worried?"

Damon blinked, then scoffed. "Please. You're just my favorite amusement park, Klaus. Hard to enjoy the rides when they vanish overnight."

Klaus chuckled, low and amused. "I see. You missed the entertainment, not the entertainer."

"Exactly," Damon said, too fast.

"Mm."

Klaus's smile didn't fade as he reached into his pocket and tossed something toward him. Damon caught it midair, frowning down at the small object in his hand - a delicate daylight bracelet, silver and simple, with a faint blue stone set in the middle.

"What's this?"

"Your replacement," Klaus said, leaning back lazily. "You haven't been able to wear your ring, and I thought perhaps you'd rather not hide indoors until the spell's broken."

Damon blinked, thrown off guard. "You-you made me a daylight bracelet?"

Klaus's smirk softened slightly, though the teasing lilt remained. "Don't sound so shocked, sweetheart. I happen to be a man of many talents."

Damon stared at it, turning it over in his hand. "Didn't even think to ask Bonnie," he muttered, half to himself. "Didn't think I'd be stuck like this long enough to need one."

Klaus's tone dropped, just a little. "Patience was never your strength."

Damon glanced up at him, eyes narrowing. "You sound like Stefan."

Klaus grinned. "Careful, I might take that as an insult."

Damon rolled his eyes and slipped the bracelet on. He stood by the window, testing the bracelet like he didn't quite trust it yet. A streak of sunlight cut across the floorboards, warm and gold, spilling over his bare feet. He stretched a hand into it, slow and cautious - waiting for that familiar sting.

It never came.

Instead, the light slid over his skin, catching on the silver band around his wrist. Damon exhaled quietly, something unreadable flickering across his face - relief, surprise, maybe even gratitude. He tilted his head, letting the light touch his cheek next, eyes narrowing slightly against the brightness.

"Guess you're useful after all."

"Coming from you," Klaus replied, lifting his glass in mock salute, "I'll take that as high praise."

Behind Damon, Klaus lingered in the doorway, half-hidden in shadow, arms folded as he watched. There was something almost reverent in his stillness - like he was looking at something he shouldn't, and couldn't look away from.

"You don't have to hover, you know," Damon said without turning around. "I'm not going to burst into flames."

Klaus's lips curved faintly. "You'll forgive me if I want to be sure. I've put effort into that bracelet - would be tragic to see it go to waste."

Damon shot him a look over his shoulder. "Oh, please. You're just waiting for it to fail so you can say I told you so."

"Perhaps," Klaus replied, voice low. "Though I admit... I'd miss the view."

Damon blinked, thrown off for a second, before rolling his eyes. "You really can't help yourself, can you?"

"Not when you're standing there like that," Klaus said easily. "It's a rare thing, seeing you without your armor on."

That got him a longer silence than he expected. Damon turned back toward the light, the usual smirk nowhere to be found now. For once, he didn't deflect.

"Whatever. You're still not getting a thank you."

"Wouldn't dream of it," Klaus said, smiling against the rim of his glass.

The quiet stretched between them, sunlight spilling wider across the room - Damon standing in its glow, and Klaus just watching, memorizing the sight like something he knew he shouldn't keep.

....

The next afternoon, Damon decided he was bored. A dangerous thing - for Mystic Falls.

Still stuck in his female body, hair flawless, lips unfairly soft, and figure criminally gorgeous, Damon strutted into the Grill like a runway model who paid the mortgage there.

Which, frankly... he practically did.

At the bar, Tyler nearly choked on his beer. Matt blinked twice like his brain needed buffering time. Alaric froze mid-sip, eyes widening behind his glass like someone had hit his internal error message.

Damon leaned against the bar with a wicked grin. "Boys."

Tyler swallowed hard. "Uh - hi. Do we... know you?"

Damon smirked. "Oh, puppy, don't tell me you forgot me already. I'm deeply wounded."

Alaric squinted. "Hold on. That voice- D-Damon?"

Damon gasped, hand to chest like a scandalized Victorian bride. "Ric! You recognized me! I knew our bond was special."

Alaric recoiled like someone slapped him with a restraining order. "Please don't say it like that."

Tyler shook his head, recovering enough to glare. "Okay, seriously, this is freaky."

Damon leaned in close, lips brushing Tyler's ear. "Would you prefer 'hot'?"

Tyler shot backward so fast he hit the barstool. Matt dropped his entire basket of fries. Damon watched him with a slow, delighted smirk.

"Oh, Matty. You are so adorable when your soul leaves your body."

Caroline, who had been watching from the back, threw her arms up dramatically.

"THANK YOU," she announced loud enough for the whole Grill to hear. "Now you boys know exactly what it feels like when someone stupidly attractive walks in and your entire brain just... dies."

Alaric sputtered defensively. "We were not-!"

"Oh, you were," Caroline said. "Tyler was two seconds from imprinting. Matt dropped his fries. And you," she pointed at Alaric, "look like a high school teacher caught flirting with his student."

Matt whined. "Care! Seriously!"

"Nope. I'm enjoying this." She folded her arms. "For once, I'm not the only idiot who fell for Damon's stupidly attractive face."

Damon winked at her. "Oh please, Barbie. You fell for my charm. My face was just a bonus."

Caroline scoffed so dramatically Damon was convinced she practiced it in the mirror. "You look like a dangerous Disney princess," she muttered. "And they're the woodland creatures you hypnotized."

All three men collectively groaned. Damon laughed. It was funny. Objectively hilarious, actually.

Tyler looked like he was reconsidering every life choice that had led him to this moment. Matt still hadn't recovered from the fries incident. Alaric was developing the haunted expression of a man who desperately wanted to pretend this wasn't happening.

Normally Damon could entertain himself with that for hours.

Today, though...

The amusement faded almost as quickly as it arrived.

Maybe because he'd already spent two weeks exploiting the curse for maximum chaos. Maybe because there were only so many times you could watch people's brains short-circuit before it became repetitive.

Or maybe because there were only so many ways to terrorize the same group of idiots before even that lost its charm. Whatever the reason, the novelty refused to last.

The room buzzed around him. Conversations resumed. Glasses clinked. Somebody started arguing about football near the pool tables.

Damon glanced around the Grill. Same people. Same town. Same problems. His boredom remained stubbornly intact.

Well.

That was disappointing.

As Damon sashayed toward the door, he waved over his shoulder. "Bye boys! Try not to fall in love with me!"

Tyler nearly did.

....

By the time Damon returned to the boarding house, Klaus was already there, lounging in his usual calm, infuriatingly composed way. He didn't admit he'd been anticipating Damon's return, but the faint, knowing smirk betrayed him.

"Where have you been?" Klaus asked, tone smooth, teasing - though the edge of concern peeked through.

Damon dropped his key inside the bowl, shrugging off the sleek leather jacket Klaus had bought him earlier. "You won't believe the disaster I left at the Grill today," he announced with a grin, striding toward the kitchen like he owned the place.

Klaus leaned against the counter, arms crossed, smirk playing at the corners of his lips. "Enlighten me."

"Oh, it was glorious," Damon said, plopping onto a chair and waving a hand dramatically. "Ric practically froze mid-sip. Tyler looked like someone hit him with a stun gun, and Matt... oh, Matt dropped his entire basket of fries. You should've seen it."

Klaus's amused smirk didn't falter, but his eyes narrowed ever so slightly. "And you, of course, were... what? Merciful?"

Damon leaned back, stretching like a cat, the sunlight catching the curves of the sleek black top and fitted jeans. "Oh, merciful? Please. I let them think they had a chance. I could have-" He grinned devilishly. "-taken it all the way. But I have standards, Klaus."

Klaus stepped closer, eyes tracing the confident tilt of Damon's jaw, the casual sway of his posture. "Standards, hm?" His tone was teasing, but there was a hint of something sharper beneath it. "And pretending you're easy with them, even in... this form, does that... satisfy your standards?"

Damon froze just a fraction, blinking at Klaus, but quickly masked it with a lazy smirk. "Oh, please. You think I can't handle a few boys gawking at me? I'm practically a pro."

Klaus's lips curved in a slow, deliberate smile, eyes darkening slightly. "Pro at what, exactly? Flirting? Mischief? Or... distracting me?"

Damon scoffed, leaning forward, voice dripping with mock bravado. "Distracting you? Now, that would take actual skill. Something you probably wouldn't appreciate."

Klaus's smile widened, amusement and something warmer swirling together in his gaze. "Oh, I appreciate it," he said softly, stepping close enough that Damon could feel the faint warmth radiating off him. "You wear confidence like armor, Damon. But even armor has its cracks."

Damon's smirk faltered just a heartbeat before he snapped it back into place. "Cracks, huh? Funny. I don't see any. Maybe you're imagining things."

"I imagine nothing," Klaus murmured, brushing a hand lightly over Damon's shoulder. "I see everything."

Damon's pulse quickened, and he shifted, leaning away slightly while still keeping up the pretense. "Careful, Klaus. Don't get... too soft on me. I might start thinking you're... dangerous."

Klaus chuckled, low and amused, a sound that made Damon's own grin twitch. "Dangerous? Oh, love... you've no idea."

Damon rolled his eyes, standing and heading for the stairs. "Well, whatever, Klaus. Keep your theories to yourself. I'm done explaining my brilliance today."

Klaus followed, slow and deliberate, just far enough behind to let Damon feel the weight of his gaze. "Brilliance, chaos, or charm," he said softly, "you make it all look effortless. Even in a body that isn't yours."

Damon paused at the top of the stairs, glancing back, and smirked, trying to mask the heat rising in his chest. "Effortless, huh? Glad I could amuse the mighty Klaus Mikaelson. Shall I file it under 'achievements'?"

Klaus's chuckle followed him up the stairs, a teasing, infuriatingly intimate sound. "Amuse me, Damon... and remember, I always notice."

....

Damon lounged on the edge of his bed, shuffling a deck of cards with far too much flair for someone who had no real intent to play properly. Klaus sat across from him in an armchair he'd dragged into the room, legs stretched out, observing with that infuriatingly calm smirk.

"You're cheating," Damon accused, tossing a card onto the bed like it was a grenade.

"I'm... applying strategy," Klaus replied smoothly, drawing another card and leaning back. "You, on the other hand, seem to be... flailing."

"Flailing is a strategy too," Damon shot back, leaning forward. "Ever heard of chaos theory, Klaus?"

Klaus raised an eyebrow. "I prefer controlled chaos, thank you very much."

Damon snorted, tossing another card. "Well, I prefer fun chaos. You know, the kind where I actually win sometimes."

"You've never won against me," Klaus said, voice light but eyes calculating. "And you know it."

"Details, details," Damon said, leaning back with a dramatic sigh. "It's called giving you a false sense of security."

They played like this for a few minutes-cards barely on the bed, more slaps and quips than actual turns. Klaus caught a flicker in Damon's eyes, that barely contained frustration and amusement all at once, and he grinned.

"You know," he said slowly, "I could sit here all night just watching you fume."

"I could see that," Damon replied, smirking despite himself. "But then who'd win the game?"

A quiet knock interrupted whatever disaster Damon had been about to unleash on the card game.

He barely looked up from his hand. "If that's Stefan, tell him I'm dead."

The door opened anyway. Damon's attention lifted automatically. And immediately regretted it. Elijah stood in the doorway.

For one brief, deeply irritating second, yesterday crashed straight back into the front of Damon's brain.

The living room.

The almost-kiss.

The look on Elijah's face afterward.

Fantastic.

Exactly what he wanted to revisit today.

Across from him, Klaus lowered his cards slightly. Not much. Just enough to acknowledge the interruption.

"Brother."

"Niklaus."

Elijah stepped inside, composed as ever, though Damon noticed the slight pause before his gaze settled fully on him. It wasn't enough for anyone else to catch. Probably. Just a fraction too long before Elijah's attention shifted toward the scattered cards, the half-empty bourbon bottle on the nightstand, and Klaus occupying an armchair in Damon's bedroom as though he'd been there all afternoon.

Which he had. Something unreadable flickered through Elijah's expression before disappearing beneath centuries of practiced control.

"Damon."

There was nothing unusual about the greeting. Nothing at all.

Damon still felt strangely aware of it. "Elijah."

Apparently that was the extent of his conversational abilities today. Wonderful.

"I happened to speak with Miss Bennett earlier," Elijah said after a moment. "She believes she has made progress regarding the counterspell."

Damon groaned immediately. "There it is."

Elijah's eyebrow lifted. "There what is?"

"The universe reminding me it hates me."

A faint trace of amusement touched Elijah's mouth before vanishing.

"Bonnie requested another attempt."

"Of course she did."

"Tomorrow evening."

Damon dropped his head backward dramatically. "Tell her if this one gives me feathers, I'm leaving town."

The corner of Elijah's mouth threatened to twitch. Threatened. Then thought better of it.

"I'll relay your concerns."

"Please don't. It'll only encourage her."

The silence that followed wasn't awkward. At least, Damon told himself it wasn't. It merely lingered a little longer than necessary.

Long enough for Damon to become aware of Elijah still standing there. Long enough for Elijah to apparently forget whatever reason he'd had for leaving. Long enough for Klaus to notice.

And Klaus noticed everything.

Damon felt it the moment his eyes flicked briefly toward Klaus. The Original hadn't said a word. Hadn't moved. Was simply watching. Observing. Collecting information the way other people collected stamps.

How annoying.

Elijah seemed to reach the same conclusion. His posture straightened almost imperceptibly. "I shall leave you to your game."

"Good idea," Damon said immediately.

Elijah's gaze returned to him. Brief. Steady. Gone almost before Damon could decide what to do with it. Then he inclined his head and stepped back into the hallway.

The door clicked shut behind him. Silence settled over the room. Damon stared down at his cards. Klaus stared at Damon. One of those things became irritating significantly faster than the other.

"Don't."

"I haven't spoken."

"You were thinking."

"Is that now a crime?"

Damon threw down a card. "It should be."

Klaus's mouth curved faintly. "You are distracted."

"No, I'm winning."

"You are losing rather spectacularly."

Damon looked down. Unfortunately, Klaus was correct. Again. A tragedy.

"Your brother walked into the room," Damon said. "A deeply unpleasant experience for everyone involved. End of mystery."

"Hm."

Damon narrowed his eyes. There were entire novels hidden inside Klaus's hm.

"What?"

Klaus turned over one of his cards, entirely too calm for someone being this annoying. "Nothing."

"Liar."

A pause.

Then, almost lazily, Klaus added, "It's simply interesting."

Damon already hated where this was going. "What is?"

"The fact that Elijah appeared to forget why he entered the room."

"He didn't."

"He lingered."

"People linger."

"Not Elijah."

Damon opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. Nothing useful emerged. Across from him, Klaus's smile widened by exactly half an inch. Not enough to be called smug. Close enough.

How unfortunate.

And Damon, who generally spoke enough for six people, had suddenly seemed determined to contribute as little as possible. Curious. Deeply curious.

Klaus disliked mysteries when they involved his family. He disliked them even more when they involved Damon. Not because he believed either man owed him an explanation. Simply because he preferred knowing things.

And at present, both Damon and Elijah appeared committed to ensuring he knew absolutely nothing.

An unforgivable choice, really.

"You realize," Klaus said eventually, placing another card down, "that your attempt at secrecy is only making me more interested."

Damon didn't even look up. "In what?"

"Whatever it is neither of you wishes to discuss."

That got his attention. Damon's eyes lifted immediately. Too quickly. Klaus noticed. Naturally.

"There is no secret."

"Mm."

"There isn't."

"Of course."

Damon pointed a finger at him. "I hate when you make that sound."

"And yet you continue behaving suspiciously."

"I'm not behaving suspiciously."

Klaus considered the statement. Then considered Damon. Then considered the statement again.

"No," he said at last. "You're right."

Damon looked pleased for approximately three seconds.

Klaus's smile sharpened. "Suspicious would imply subtlety."

The card Damon threw at his head narrowly missed. Klaus laughed. The irritation remained. So did the curiosity. Neither appeared likely to disappear anytime soon.

....

For the fifth time, the spell fizzled out. The air in Damon's room still smelled faintly of burnt sage and frustration. Bonnie had left an hour ago, muttering something about misaligned energy and "maybe it's karmic." Damon didn't want to hear it.

He'd slammed the door, drawn the curtains blocking the sunlight, and declared himself officially done with the universe.

Now, sprawled across the bed in one of Elena's clothes because, apparently, his own didn't fit anymore. Damon stared at the ceiling with the dramatic weight of someone plotting vengeance on every witch alive.

The door creaked open. "You alive in here?" Stefan asked carefully.

"No," Damon muttered. "I've transcended. My soul left my body five spells ago."

Stefan sighed, stepping inside. "You know sulking won't-"

"Don't." Damon's voice was sharp. "Don't do the 'moral support' thing. You're terrible at it."

Stefan raised an eyebrow. "Excuse me?"

"Your idea of comfort is usually: Damon, you deserve this."

"That's not-"

"Or, my personal favorite," Damon continued, sitting up with a dramatic gesture, "Maybe this is a lesson in humility."

Stefan pinched the bridge of his nose. "You're insufferable even like this."

"Like this?" Damon echoed, narrowing his eyes. "You mean adorable. Say it, Stefan. I'm adorable."

Stefan groaned. "I'm not saying that."

"Come on, little brother," Damon teased, smirking. "I've got dimples now. It's practically your thing."

Stefan couldn't help it - a laugh escaped, short and unwilling. "You look ridiculous."

"Ridiculously good-looking," Damon corrected, grinning now that he had him.

Stefan shook his head, a smile tugging at his mouth despite himself. "You're impossible."

"True," Damon said, leaning back against the headboard with a sigh. "But at least I'm consistently impossible."

For a moment, the tension broke - replaced by something familiar. Just the two of them, bickering like old times.

Stefan glanced toward the door. "Bonnie said she's not giving up. She'll figure it out."

Damon looked away, expression softening a little. "Yeah. I know."

Then, because sincerity wasn't his strong suit, he added, "In the meantime, you might want to hide your girlfriend's clothes. I'm not done raiding her closet."

Stefan rolled his eyes on his way out. "You're buying her new wardrobe when this is over."

Damon smirked. "Sure thing, Barbie brother."

....

Night settled heavy over the Salvatore house. The halls were quiet - Stefan gone to check on Bonnie, the lights downstairs dimmed. Damon sat by the window, knees drawn up, the borrowed Stefan's shirt hanging loose off one shoulder. The bracelet glimmered faintly against his wrist where the moonlight touched it.

He hated how small everything felt. The clothes, the room, himself. Every mirror was an insult. Every failed spell, a reminder.

The knock on the door was light. Damon didn't answer. "Stefan's not here," he called after a beat, voice low.

"I know," came Klaus's familiar drawl, smooth and warm as whiskey.

Damon sighed. "Of course you do."

The door opened anyway. Klaus stepped inside, casual as ever - though his eyes took in the darkened room, the untouched drink on the nightstand, the way Damon didn't quite meet his gaze.

"Bonnie still having no luck?" Klaus asked.

"Five spells and counting," Damon muttered. "At this point, I'm starting to think this is permanent. Maybe I'm supposed to start a new life. Get a cute little apartment. Adopt a cat."

Klaus smiled faintly. "I think the cat would murder you."

"Probably," Damon admitted. "But at least it'd be quick."

Klaus chuckled, the sound quiet. "You know, I almost pity the world if you stay like this."

"Oh yeah?" Damon glanced at him.

"Imagine the chaos," Klaus said. "All that bite in a smaller package. Terrifying."

Damon huffed a laugh, but it faded quick. "I don't feel terrifying. I just feel... wrong."

The admission slipped out before he could stop it. The words hung between them, fragile and honest in a way that made Damon immediately regret speaking.

Klaus didn't move closer, but his voice softened. "You're not wrong, love. Just different. Temporarily, at that."

Damon looked at him then - and Klaus caught it, the flicker of doubt, of weariness beneath the usual bravado.

"I'll drink to that," Damon said finally, reaching for the glass beside him.

Klaus stepped forward, took it gently from his hand, and replaced it with a fresh one from the tray he'd brought. "Then drink this instead. I had it sent from the Quarter. Thought you could use something that doesn't taste like self-pity."

Damon smirked, taking a sip. "You always this charming with girls stuck in magical mishaps?"

"Only the ones who make it interesting," Klaus murmured.

Their eyes met - and for a heartbeat, neither looked away.

Then Damon scoffed lightly, breaking the tension. "Careful, Klaus. People might think you have a heart."

Klaus's lips curved. "Only on weekends."

He lingered a moment longer before turning to leave. Damon watched him go, the quiet returning - but somehow, it didn't feel as heavy this time.

He finally exhaled and dragged a hand through his hair. "Fantastic," he muttered to himself. "Emotional whiplash as a nightcap."

He crossed the room restlessly, shrugged out of the oversized shirt, and let it fall wherever it landed.

The bourbon sat untouched on the nightstand. A rare occurrence. Outside, the house had gone quiet. Stefan still hadn't returned.

The grandfather clock downstairs struck midnight.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

Damon lost count somewhere after that. At some point, exhaustion won. Not because he wanted sleep. Because he was simply too tired to stay angry.

The last thing he remembered was staring at the ceiling and wondering how five failed spells somehow felt worse than the first.

Then darkness. Heavy. Dreamless. Complete.

....

The house was silent when Klaus returned upstairs. Not that he'd ever truly left. An hour had passed since his conversation with Damon.

Perhaps two.

Long enough for the boarding house to settle into its usual nighttime rhythm. Long enough for Stefan's absence to become increasingly obvious. Long enough for Klaus to discover he was still here.

A ridiculous situation.

Yet somehow he found himself pausing outside Damon's bedroom door anyway. The room beyond was quiet. He opened the door without knocking.

Damon was asleep. Finally. Klaus stepped inside quietly. The bourbon remained untouched on the nightstand. That alone told him more than most conversations.

For all his complaints and theatrics, Damon rarely left a drink unfinished when something genuinely troubled him.

Yet there it sat.

Forgotten.

The oversized shirt had slipped off one shoulder sometime during the night. One arm hung loosely over the edge of the bed, fingers inches from the floor.

Vulnerable.

A word Damon would likely stab someone for even thinking.

Klaus found himself smiling despite it. "Terrifying," he murmured softly.

The sleeping Damon in front of him looked anything but. A chair sat crooked beside the desk. Boots abandoned near the doorway. Shirt discarded where it had landed.

The usual evidence of Damon's war against basic organization. Klaus straightened the chair first.

Then the boots.

Then the shirt.

Not because it mattered. Certainly not because he cared. And absolutely not because the sight of Damon struggling all day had lodged itself somewhere inconvenient beneath his ribs.

That would be ridiculous.

His gaze drifted back toward the bed. Damon hadn't moved. The tension he'd carried all day seemed absent now.

No sharp remarks. No forced confidence.. No masks.

Just exhaustion.

The sight unsettled Klaus more than he cared to examine. For a long moment, he simply stood there. Watching. Not in the predatory way Damon would undoubtedly accuse him of if caught.

Something quieter. Something far more dangerous.

Eventually, he stepped closer.

Close enough to hear the steady rhythm of Damon's breathing. Close enough to brush a stray strand of hair away from where it had fallen across his face. The gesture happened before Klaus could decide whether it was wise.

His hand lingered for only a second. Then withdrew. "Get some sleep, love," he said quietly.

The words disappeared into the darkness. Damon didn't stir. Klaus wasn't surprised. With one last glance, he left the room behind.

The hallway greeted him with silence. The sensible thing would have been to go home.

Instead, twenty minutes later, he found himself lingering outside the boarding house with a glass of bourbon he hadn't touched.

An unfortunate development.

....

Damon woke to darkness. For a moment he didn't move.

The room was silent except for the faint ticking of the clock downstairs and the occasional rustle of branches outside his window.

Moonlight spilled across the floor in silver strips. His bedside clock glowed.

2:47 a.m.

He groaned. Perfect.

Not enough sleep to feel rested. Too much sleep to fall back asleep easily. Exactly the kind of torture the universe enjoyed.

Damon pushed himself upright, already considering bourbon as a perfectly reasonable substitute for unconsciousness.

Then he stopped. "...What the hell."

His shirt, the one he'd left on the floor when he'd shrugged it off earlier was now draped neatly over the back of his chair.

The window he'd left cracked open was latched.

His boots were lined up beside the bed instead of thrown in opposite directions. And his bedside lamp, which he definitely remembered leaving on, had been clicked off.

Nothing dramatic. Nothing sentimental.

Just order, where Damon left chaos.

He scanned the room with narrowed eyes, jaw tightening.

Klaus.

No one else moved like that. No one else slipped in and out without a breath of disturbance. And no one else would bother fixing Damon's room unless they had some bizarre, silent interest in whether Damon lived like a feral raccoon.

But Damon didn't undo any of it. He stood there for another moment, staring at the straightened shirt. The neatly arranged boots. The closed window. Tiny things. Meaningless things.

Except they weren't.

Klaus hadn't needed to do any of it. That was the irritating part.

The Original could have checked whether Damon was alive and left. Instead, he'd apparently spent his evening reorganizing Damon's room like some deeply judgmental housewife.

"Psychopath," Damon muttered, rubbing the back of his neck.

The word lacked conviction. His eyes drifted toward the window. Outside, Mystic Falls slept beneath a wash of moonlight. The street beyond the boarding house sat empty and still.

Yet for some reason, Damon found himself glancing twice. As though expecting to see someone. Nothing looked out of place. No movement. No sign of Klaus.

Still...

The feeling lingered. Like being watched. Not threatened. Observed. The distinction somehow made it worse. With a sharp shake of his head, Damon grabbed his jacket. He needed air. Or blood.

Possibly both.

....

The night was alive, and Damon was done listening to lectures. Stefan's voice nagged in the back of his mind - "Don't do this... you'll regret it..." - but he tuned it out like static. Tonight, he wasn't going to be careful. Tonight, he was going to feel everything.

The reversal spell had fizzled out yesterday - smoke, sparks, Bonnie swearing, Stefan frowning - and the frustration crawled under Damon's skin like electricity. He needed an outlet, something simple, something he could control.

Striding through the streets in the sleek black top and fitted jeans Klaus had bought him. Damon tugged the leather jacket tighter around himself. It fit too well, which annoyed him more than he'd ever admit. His hair, slightly tousled, fell just past his jawline, stubbornly perfect no matter how he tried to shake it loose.

He walked with sharp, restless steps, fists clenching and unclenching in rhythm with the pounding beat of his own pulse. Elijah's ghostly near-kiss still burned in his mind, and Klaus's soft, impossible attentions weren't helping. Not one bit.

"I am not a girl," Damon muttered under his breath, though the words were more to himself than anyone else. "I am Damon Salvatore... and damn it, I'm going to prove it."

A lone human stumbled along the street, oblivious. Damon's eyes gleamed with sharp delight. This wasn't about hunger. This was about reclaiming control, reminding himself that his body-or lack of it-didn't define him.

In one fluid motion, Damon was on him. The human froze, heart racing. Damon's fangs grazed the skin just enough, the bite precise. The boy shuddered under the thrill, but Damon held him on the edge, teasing, tasting, making the point without ending it.

A soft chuckle reached him. Damon closed his eyes.

Of course.

Of course.

He turned slowly. Klaus stood beneath a nearby streetlamp, one shoulder resting against the iron post as though he'd been there for quite some time. Which, knowing him, he probably had. The bastard didn't even look surprised to see him.

"Let me guess," Damon said flatly. "You've been following me."

"Following is such an unpleasant word."

"Klaus."

"I prefer keeping an eye on things that concern me."

Damon hated that answer significantly more than he should have. He rolled his eyes, ignoring him, tightening his grip on the human's pulse just long enough to make his point before letting him go.

The boy stumbled back, utterly unscathed but convinced he'd narrowly survived something far beyond him.

"That's all?" Klaus called, stepping closer. "I would've thought you'd want to... enjoy yourself more. You know, maybe risk a little chaos?"

"Not tonight," Damon said, voice sharp. "I've got enough chaos in my head already."

Klaus smirked, taking a step to the side, letting his eyes roam Damon's posture. "You still have your fangs, even if your body doesn't match," he said, amusement clear in every tone.

Damon's grin twisted, sharp and dangerous. "Careful, Klaus. I'm not in the mood for lectures tonight."

"Oh, I wouldn't dream of it," Klaus replied, voice light. "I'm just here to watch you remind the world that... some things don't change, no matter the costume."

Klaus stepped closer, hand brushing against Damon's chin, catching the small streak of blood there. Damon froze for a split second, taken off guard, before instinctively masking his reaction with a flippant smirk. Klaus's fingers lingered for just a moment longer, brushing the skin clean with quiet, teasing intent.

Damon's pulse surged with that mix of pride and irritation that only Klaus could pull out of him. He flicked his wrist dismissively, walking ahead. "Yeah, well. Some of us are born confident."

And with that, he disappeared into the night, fangs bared, heart pounding, unapologetically Damon, leaving Klaus trailing behind with that infuriating, amused smile.

A smile that didn't quite hide the truth. He'd already made up his mind to help Damon, no matter how well Damon tried to mask the helplessness bleeding through the cracks.

....

Dawn was beginning its slow climb across New Orleans when Klaus finally returned home. The compound slept. Elijah, apparently, did not.

A faint glow spilled from the sitting room, drawing Klaus toward it. Inside, the fire had nearly died, leaving only a bed of red embers behind. A glass of bourbon sat untouched on the table beside Elijah's chair.

Or nearly untouched.

The level hadn't changed in hours. Elijah remained seated before the hearth, outwardly composed, a book resting open in one hand. He hadn't turned a page since midnight. Neither brother had enjoyed a particularly restful evening.

Elijah's thoughts had spent hours circling the same moment. A hand brushing dark hair aside. A brief lapse in judgment.

The sharp alarm in Damon's voice. The memory sat heavily with him still. Not because of what almost happened. Because of what Damon had believed was happening.

Across the room, Klaus recognized the signs immediately. He'd worn the same expression himself often enough over the centuries.

Regret.

An old companion. Unfortunately for Elijah, it was entirely wasted. Klaus's own evening had been occupied elsewhere.

A stubborn vampire determined to prove that a curse had changed nothing. An untouched glass of bourbon. A dark bedroom. A room Klaus had entered twice despite possessing every intention not to. His thoughts proved considerably less noble than Elijah's.

Also considerably less apologetic. How inconvenient. The sound of the floorboards shifting beneath his feet finally drew Elijah's attention.

"You've been gone all night."

Klaus's mouth curved faintly. "So have you."

Elijah's gaze narrowed. Klaus almost laughed. There was a certain comfort in discovering he was not the only Mikaelson making questionable decisions lately.

"That wasn't wise," Elijah said quietly.

A statement broad enough to accommodate either of them.

Klaus appreciated the courtesy. "No," he agreed. "Probably not."

The fire crackled. Dawn crept higher. Neither brother elaborated. Both understood perfectly well that some subjects were better approached indirectly.

Klaus's gaze drifted toward the book in Elijah's hands. Then toward the untouched bourbon. Then back to Elijah.

His smile sharpened slightly. "Curious."

Elijah looked exhausted. "What is?"

"You've spent an impressive amount of time pretending to read."

A muscle ticked in Elijah's jaw. Not denial. Not confirmation. Something in between.

Klaus found himself unexpectedly amused. The situation was absurd. Two immortal vampires. A millennium of experience between them.

And somehow both had spent the night distracted by the same impossible creature.

Neither mentioned Damon. The omission lingered between them anyway.

....

Elijah found Klaus in his studio three days later. At least, that was what Klaus insisted on calling it.

Elijah preferred "the room where important paperwork went to die."

Reports from New Orleans sat untouched across a nearby table. Klaus hadn't looked at a single one. He was painting. Naturally.

"You're avoiding your responsibilities."

"I'm prioritizing my sanity."

Elijah didn't bother arguing. Experience had taught him it was pointless. For a time, only the sound of the brush moving across canvas filled the room.

Then Elijah spoke. "Bonnie's latest attempt failed."

Klaus didn't look up. "I know."

The answer was immediate. Too immediate.

Elijah noticed. "Elena called earlier."

That finally earned a glance.

"Did she?"

"She seemed concerned."

A faint understatement. Elena had sounded frustrated, worried, and increasingly uncertain about how to help Damon.

"The situation appears to be worsening."

This time the brush paused-for a second. Yet it was enough. Klaus had spent centuries mastering the art of appearing unaffected. Unfortunately, Elijah had spent centuries learning how to recognize the lie.

"According to Elena, he barely leaves the house unless someone drags him out. Every failed attempt seems to make matters worse."

A muscle shifted in Klaus's jaw. Gone almost instantly. "He'll survive."

The words sounded dismissive. The tone did not.

Elijah studied him. "That is not what concerns me."

"No?"

"No."

Klaus finally looked up.

Elijah continued. "He is beginning to believe this may be permanent."

The room fell quiet. Klaus set the brush down. Carefully. Too carefully. For a moment, neither spoke.

"This curse requires the original caster."

Klaus leaned back. "I suspected as much."

Elijah raised an eyebrow. "You suspected."

"I confirmed."

A pause.

"Confirmed?"

Klaus's smile appeared. Slow. Infuriating. "You think I spent the last week sitting around waiting for Bennett to accidentally fix the problem?"

Elijah stared at him. Klaus's smile widened. That was answer enough.

"You found her."

"Mm."

"And neglected to mention it."

"I was making certain."

Elijah exhaled slowly. Part annoyance.Part relief. "How long?"

"A few days."

The silence that followed was telling. Because neither brother could quite justify why Klaus had devoted several days to tracking down a lovestruck witch from Mystic Falls. New Orleans certainly hadn't benefited from the effort.

Klaus appeared entirely uninterested in examining that fact. Elijah found himself equally unwilling.

How unfortunate.

"Where is she now?" Elijah asked.

Klaus stood. A familiar spark entering his eyes. The expression rarely meant anything sensible.

"Ready for transport."

Elijah closed his eyes briefly. Of course she was. Klaus had never learned moderation.

"Shall we?"

The question sounded far too cheerful. Unfortunately, Elijah already knew the answer. By the time they arrived in Mystic Falls, Klaus was going to make a spectacle of it.

....

The front door hit the wall hard enough to rattle the framed photographs in the foyer.

Stefan looked up from the couch with the immediate resignation of someone who already knew peace had just left the building.

"What now?"

The question died halfway out.

Klaus strode inside as though the boarding house belonged to him, coat flaring behind him, one hand firmly wrapped around the arm of a young woman who looked moments away from either bolting or passing out.

Elijah followed at a more civilized pace. Which somehow made the whole thing worse.

The girl stumbled when Klaus released her. She caught herself against a nearby table, breathing fast, eyes darting around the room.

Bonnie stood so quickly her chair scraped across the floor. For a second she simply stared. Then-

"No."

Klaus's mouth curved. "Oh yes."

"You actually did it."

"I do enjoy your confidence in me, love."

Stefan pushed himself upright. "What exactly did he do?"

Elijah sighed. Not dramatically. Not loudly.

Just the tired exhale of a man who had spent several days discovering that Klaus had interpreted every reasonable suggestion in the most unreasonable way possible.

"Klaus located the original caster."

"Located?" Bonnie repeated.

The witch made a strangled noise.

Bonnie blinked. "Right. Kidnapped."

"I transported."

"You kidnapped her."

"A matter of perspective."

Stefan rubbed a hand over his face. Somewhere upstairs, a floorboard creaked. Nobody noticed. Bonnie was too busy glaring. The witch looked ready to cry. Klaus looked entirely too pleased with himself.

"Bonnie," Stefan began carefully, "please tell me you didn't ask him to do this."

"I absolutely did not."

"Technically," Klaus said, "you suggested the original caster might be necessary."

Bonnie pointed at him. "I did not suggest hunting her down across state lines."

"You didn't say not to."

The glare Bonnie gave him could have stripped paint.

A laugh almost escaped Elijah-almost.

Above them, another floorboard creaked. This time Klaus's head tilted slightly. The others followed his gaze toward the staircase.

Damon appeared a moment later, halfway down the steps and already irritated.

Weeks of failed spells had worn through whatever patience he'd possessed. The oversized sweater hanging off one shoulder belonged to Elena. The dark circles under his eyes belonged entirely to him.

"What are you idiots arguing about now?"

Nobody answered immediately. Damon frowned. Then his gaze shifted.

Past Bonnie. Past Stefan. Past Elijah.

To the witch standing rigid beside the table.

Everything stopped. The room didn't actually go silent.

Bonnie was still breathing. Stefan shifted his weight. The clock in the hallway kept ticking. Yet somehow Damon heard none of it.

Recognition landed all at once.

Not because he'd spent the week thinking about her. He hadn't. Most days he'd been too busy trying not to think about himself. But he knew her.

And judging by the way every bit of color drained from her face, she knew him too.

"Oh."

The word came out quieter than intended. The witch lowered her eyes immediately. Damon stared. She looked younger than he remembered.

Smaller. Terrified. Not triumphant. Not smug.

Just scared.

"You found her."

Klaus folded his arms. There was something infuriatingly satisfied about him. "As a matter of fact, I did."

Stefan groaned. Bonnie pinched the bridge of her nose. Elijah looked away entirely. Damon couldn't help it.

A laugh escaped him-not a happy one. Not quite bitter either.

Just disbelief.

Of course.

Of course Klaus had solved the problem by dragging the problem through the front door.

"That's insane."

"Thank you."

"That wasn't a compliment."

"Yet here we are."

The witch flinched when Damon looked at her again. A small movement. Easy to miss. He didn't. Something uncomfortable twisted in his chest.

For the last week she'd been little more than a name attached to his misery. Someone to blame when another spell failed. Someone easy to hate.

Standing here now was different. She looked terrified of him. Not Klaus.

Him.

Which was honestly a first.

"We'll fix it," Bonnie said eventually, the irritation leaving her voice. "If she's the original caster, we finally have a chance."

The witch swallowed. Stefan nodded slowly. Reluctantly.

The room seemed to exhale. Only Damon remained still. Klaus stepped past him, shoulder brushing lightly against his arm. The contact pulled Damon from whatever spiral he'd started drifting into.

"You all right?" Klaus asked quietly.

Damon snorted. "Yeah."

A beat.

Then-"Just weird seeing somebody more afraid of me than you."

That earned a low laugh from Klaus. "Enjoy it while it lasts."

Damon looked back toward the witch. She dropped her gaze immediately. The twist in his chest returned. Stronger this time. And annoyingly, it felt a lot less like satisfaction than he'd expected.

....

The spell circle glowed a blinding white before flickering into red - a surge of power that rattled the windows and made the air hum. Damon's breath hitched, every nerve catching fire at once.

"Hold still!" Bonnie shouted, voice strained as she struggled to keep her focus.

"Oh yeah, sure-" Damon hissed between clenched teeth, "-I'll just relax while my bones rearrange themselves, Bennett!"

Stefan flinched as Damon's body arched in pain, a low growl tearing through him. Klaus and Elijah stood nearby, watching with wary eyes - even Klaus's smirk faded when Damon's laughter broke into something closer to a scream.

Then, suddenly, silence.

The light dimmed. Damon collapsed forward, breathing raggedly, hands braced against the floor. When he finally lifted his head, the voice that came out was unmistakably his - smooth, deeper, and edged with relief.

"Well," he rasped, smirking weakly, "that was fun."

Stefan was the first to move, kneeling beside him. "You're back," he said quietly, half in disbelief.

"Yeah," Damon muttered, wincing as he rolled his shoulders. "And I'd appreciate if no one mentioned I ever wore lipstick again."

Bonnie let out a long breath, her hands trembling slightly. "It worked."

The witch - the one who started it all - stood a few feet away, frozen, waiting for the outburst that never came. Damon looked at her, really looked, and for once didn't reach for sarcasm.

"I shouldn't have treated you like that," he said simply. "Didn't deserve what you did, but... I wasn't exactly the nice guy either. So... yeah. Sorry."

The girl blinked, stunned. Slowly, she nodded, intimidating by Klaus's sharp eyes. "I... accept."

Damon smirked faintly. "Good. Saves me from having to feel guilty."

Bonnie rolled her eyes. "And there it is."

He turned to her, grin widening. "What? You'd miss me if I turned saintly."

"Don't tempt me," Bonnie muttered, but there was a hint of a smile.

Stefan finally pulled Damon into a quick, relieved hug, clapping his brother on the back. "Glad you're you again."

"Glad I look like me again," Damon corrected, smirking against Stefan's shoulder.

From across the room, Klaus watched with that familiar amused tilt of his mouth. "It's a pity," he said lightly. "You made quite the charming lady."

Damon shot him a look. "Don't start, Klaus."

Elijah, ever composed, gave a small nod. "Welcome back, Mr. Salvatore."

Damon smirked at that too. "Thanks, suit. Miss me already?"

Elijah's lips twitched. "Perhaps."

For a moment, the chaos faded - and the Boarding House, for once, was filled with something rare: laughter.

....

The house had finally gone quiet. Bonnie had disappeared downstairs after announcing, for at least the fifth time, that she'd actually done it. Stefan had followed not long after, hovering just enough to make sure Damon hadn't immediately exploded into another curse before pretending he wasn't hovering at all. Even Klaus had wandered off somewhere, though Damon suspected that particular miracle came with an expiration date.

For the first time in what felt like forever, the room belonged to him again.

Almost.

He stood in front of the mirror longer than he meant to, studying the familiar face staring back. His own jaw. His own shoulders. His own hands. The weight of his body finally felt right again, as though something inside him had stopped leaning sideways.

A laugh escaped under his breath.

"Well," he murmured, turning his head once before flashing himself the smallest smirk. "Still ridiculously good-looking."

Behind him, Elijah let out a quiet breath that sounded suspiciously close to amusement.

Damon caught it in the mirror. "You laugh now," he said without turning. "You weren't the one borrowing Elena's wardrobe."

"I assure you," Elijah replied evenly, "I had no desire to borrow Miss Gilbert's wardrobe."

Damon snorted. "There he is."

He rested both hands on the dresser, feeling the lingering ache pull through his shoulders. Bonnie hadn't been kidding when she said reversing powerful magic came with consequences. Every muscle protested. His head still throbbed. He'd probably sleep for twelve hours the moment adrenaline wore off.

Worth it.

Every miserable second.

The silence settled again, easier this time, until Damon caught Elijah's reflection still standing near the doorway.

Not lingering awkwardly. Not watching like a hawk.

Just... there.

The same way he'd been there through every failed spell, every sarcastic outburst, every moment Damon had slammed a door because he couldn't stand another person looking at him with pity.

Except Elijah had never looked at him with pity. That was probably the problem.

Damon sighed through his nose. "About the other night."

Elijah's eyes lifted to meet his in the mirror. "There have been rather a lot of unusual nights recently."

"The ring."

Understanding settled almost immediately. Neither of them needed anything else.

Damon scratched absentmindedly at the edge of the dresser. "You've been avoiding me."

"I believed you preferred the distance."

"I preferred not having to think about it."

A faint crease appeared between Elijah's brows.

Damon let out a dry laugh. "See? That's already a better answer than the one I was planning."

"What answer was that?"

"'Sorry.'"

Elijah regarded him quietly. "I have never wanted your apology."

"I know."

That was the annoying part. Damon pushed himself away from the dresser and wandered toward the window instead, more because standing still suddenly felt impossible than because he had anywhere to go.

"I was confused."

The words came easier than he'd expected.

"I got turned into a woman by a witch who thought revenge sounded romantic. Bonnie nearly fried my brain five different times trying to fix it. Half the time I couldn't even tell whether I was angry, embarrassed or just... exhausted."

He laughed once. "No, scratch that. I was definitely all three."

Elijah remained silent. Not the uncomfortable silence of someone waiting to speak. The patient silence of someone willing to let Damon reach the end of his own thoughts.

"I kept thinking that once everything went back to normal, it'd all make sense." Damon shook his head. "It didn't." He glanced over his shoulder. "You were good to me."

"I merely treated you as I believed you deserved."

"Exactly." Damon pointed vaguely in Elijah's direction. "See? Stop doing that."

"I'm afraid you'll have to be more specific."

"Being... decent."

The corner of Elijah's mouth twitched.

"It's unsettling."

"I shall endeavour to be less courteous in future."

"You won't."

"No."

"...No."

Another reluctant laugh escaped Damon before fading almost immediately. He scrubbed a hand across his face. "This is unbelievable."

Elijah waited.

"Congratulations."

One elegant eyebrow lifted.

"You've somehow managed to become one of the very few people I actually give a damn about."

For the first time that evening, Elijah looked genuinely surprised. It lasted only a heartbeat before something quieter settled across his expression.

Warm. Hopeful.

Damon caught it immediately. "Oh, absolutely not."

Elijah blinked once.

"Don't get that look on your face. I'm already regretting this conversation."

"I assure you-"

"No." Damon pointed a finger at him before he could continue. "You don't get to reassure me. I've finally committed to the emotional disaster. Don't interrupt."

Something dangerously close to amusement flickered through Elijah's eyes.

"I stand corrected."

"You should."

Damon sighed heavily, letting his hand fall back to his side. "The problem is... I don't know how much of the last few weeks belonged to me."

The room grew still.

"I know I cared." Damon frowned at the floor. "That part's real." His jaw tightened. "I just don't know where the curse ends and I begin."

Elijah didn't move. Didn't argue. Didn't rush to tell Damon he was wrong. He simply listened.

"I don't want to wake up six months from now wondering whether I mistook gratitude for something else." Damon swallowed. "Or whether I let you believe something because I couldn't separate myself from everything that curse dumped in my head." He finally looked up.

Elijah was still watching him with the same impossible calm. Not demanding. Not pleading.

Simply waiting.

Damon hated that it made this harder. "Somehow..." He let out a tired breath. "Against my better judgment and what I thought was a fairly impressive talent for pushing people away... you've become important to me."

Elijah's expression softened.

Damon noticed. "But that's all I've got."

The words came quietly.

"I care about you." He forced himself not to soften what came next. "I just don't love you the way you deserve."

For the first time since the conversation began, Elijah looked away. Only briefly. When his eyes returned, they were just as steady as before.

"You owe me no apology for that."

Damon frowned. "I've spent the last ten minutes apologizing."

"And I wish you hadn't."

Elijah's voice remained gentle. "Affection offered honestly is never something for which you should seek forgiveness. Nor is affection you cannot return."

Damon stared at him. Trust Elijah to somehow make being rejected sound dignified.

"I was really hoping you'd make this easier."

"I believe," Elijah said with the faintest smile, "that would require me to be someone else."

"...Yeah." Damon rubbed at his eyebrow, more out of habit than nerves now.

"I guess it would." Elijah stepped toward the door before pausing. "For what it is worth..."

Damon looked up.

"I do not regret caring for you." He smiled then. Small. Sad around the edges. Entirely Elijah. "And I suspect," he continued quietly, "that one day you will stop regretting being cared for."

The door closed softly behind him. Damon remained where he was. His reflection stared back from the mirror again.

The same face. The same body. The same Damon Salvatore. Yet somehow the room felt different than it had a few minutes earlier. He let out a long breath.

"Yeah," Damon muttered to the empty room. "...That went about as horribly as expected."

....

The house had finally settled. Not quiet. The boarding house had never quite mastered quiet.

The old timber complained every few minutes, the pipes groaned whenever someone looked at them wrong, and somewhere downstairs Stefan was almost certainly hovering just outside the radius of being annoying, convincing himself Damon might spontaneously develop another curse before sunrise.

Compared to the last few weeks, though, it felt peaceful.

Damon sat sideways in the window seat with one knee drawn up, a glass of bourbon balanced loosely against it. Moonlight spilled across the front lawn, silvering the trees and the empty street beyond. Every now and then his attention drifted back to the reflection in the glass.

His own reflection.

Funny how something he'd spent more than a century taking for granted suddenly felt worth checking every five minutes. Same eyes. Same stupid hair. Same face.

He looked exhausted. He also looked unmistakably like Damon Salvatore. He decided he could live with exhausted.

"You're staring at yourself again."

Damon didn't even look around. "You're getting very comfortable breaking into my room."

"I knocked."

"For approximately half a second."

Klaus smiled. "You weren't objecting."

"I wasn't fast enough."

Klaus's reflection appeared in the window a moment later, leaning one shoulder against the doorframe with the sort of effortless confidence that suggested he'd always intended to end up there.

Damon should have found it irritating. nstead he found himself oddly unsurprised. That was probably more concerning.

"You've become predictable," Damon said.

"I'll endeavor to disappoint you."

"I somehow doubt that."

A comfortable silence settled between them. That was new.

Silence with Klaus usually came wrapped in schemes or sarcasm or the vague threat that somebody, somewhere, was about to have a spectacularly terrible evening.

This one simply... existed.

Damon watched the bourbon catch the moonlight. His mind wandered despite himself. Failed spell after failed spell.

Bonnie swearing louder each time. Stefan pretending optimism wasn't slowly abandoning him. Elena lending him clothes with entirely too much sympathy. Caroline having the time of her life. Elijah quietly appearing whenever Damon least expected him.

And Klaus...

Klaus had simply never left. Not really. The idiot had visited him twice in one night. Straightened a room Damon had very deliberately left looking like a disaster. Followed him through Mystic Falls at nearly three in the morning while pretending he wasn't following him. Walked him home without saying a word about it.

Damon frowned into his drink. That should have annoyed him more than it did.

"You're thinking too loudly."

He glanced toward Klaus. "I didn't realize thoughts made noise."

"They do when they belong to you."

Damon rolled his eyes automatically, but the corner of his mouth betrayed him. "You kept showing up."

The words escaped before he'd decided whether they should.

Klaus didn't answer immediately. He simply watched him. "You sound disappointed."

"I sound confused."

"I find that considerably more believable."

Damon let out a quiet laugh and shook his head. "No, seriously." He looked back toward the window. "Most people would've gotten bored."

Klaus tilted his head slightly. "I wasn't aware my company had become so burdensome."

"You know that's not what I meant."

"I do." His voice lost just enough amusement for Damon to notice. "I simply found everyone else's conclusions rather unimaginative."

That drew his attention.

"What conclusions?"

"That you required fixing."

Damon blinked.

Klaus continued before he could interrupt. "You were frustrated."

A pause.

"Occasionally insufferable."

"Occasionally?"

"Frequently."

"There he is."

"But you remained yourself."

The teasing disappeared almost entirely.

"They all looked at the curse." Klaus met his eyes through the reflection in the glass. "I looked at you."

Something tightened unexpectedly in Damon's chest. He looked away first. Not because he wanted to. Because suddenly maintaining eye contact seemed far more dangerous than facing vampires usually was.

He laughed once beneath his breath. "Well..."

The word died before it became anything useful. He tried again.

"I kept waiting to feel normal." His fingers turned the glass slowly between his hands. "I thought once Bonnie figured it out, everything would just... click back into place."

"It didn't."

"No."

The answer came easier than he'd expected.

"No, it didn't."

He rubbed absentmindedly at the back of his neck. "I hated looking in mirrors."

The confession surprised even him.

"I hated hearing my own voice."

Another pause.

"I hated waking up every morning hoping today would be the day somebody fixed it."

The room stayed quiet.

Klaus never interrupted. Never filled the silence because it made him uncomfortable. He simply waited.

Damon appreciated that more than he intended to. "You know what's stupid?"

"I imagine you're about to enlighten me."

"I spent weeks trying to convince everybody I was fine." Damon's smile turned tired. "I wasn't even convincing myself."

The words settled between them. Heavy. Honest. Neither of them moved.

Klaus eventually pushed himself away from the doorway, crossing the room with unhurried steps before stopping a comfortable distance away.

Not close enough to crowd him. Close enough that Damon could feel the warmth of his presence.

Klaus watched him quietly. "You kept insisting you were fine."

Damon let out a short laugh. "I kept insisting a lot of things."

"You fooled your brother."

"I usually do."

"You fooled Miss Bennett."

"She's stubborn enough to pretend she believed me."

A faint smile tugged at Klaus's mouth.

"You never fooled me."

Damon looked down into his glass. The bourbon caught the moonlight, amber shifting lazily every time he turned his wrist.

"I thought..." He frowned slightly. "I honestly thought if Bonnie fixed it, everything would just snap back into place."

"And?"

"And it didn't."

The answer came easier than Damon expected.

"I've got my body back." He lifted one hand, flexing his fingers almost absentmindedly before letting it fall again. "My voice."

A crooked smile appeared.

"My incredibly handsome face."

Klaus hummed. "Objectively speaking."

"Obviously."

The smile lingered only a second before fading again.

"But somewhere along the way..." He searched for the words. "...I stopped trusting my own reflection."

Silence settled over the room.

Damon kept talking anyway. "I'd walk past a mirror and..." He shook his head once. "For half a second I'd expect to see me."

His jaw tightened. "And every single time, there was somebody else." He laughed quietly. "You know what's ridiculous?"

Klaus waited.

"I still kept looking."

Another slow turn of the glass.

"Every mirror." Damon's gaze drifted toward the window. "I kept thinking maybe the next one would be different."

The admission hung between them. Quiet. Embarrassingly honest. "It sounds stupid when I say it out loud."

"No." Klaus's voice remained calm. "It sounds human."

Damon snorted. "I preferred being dramatic."

"I noticed."

He smiled despite himself. Then the smile disappeared just as quickly.

"It wasn't even about..." Damon gestured vaguely at himself. "...this." He struggled for the words. "It wasn't because I suddenly hated what I looked like." He frowned. "I hated that it wasn't mine."

Klaus's expression softened almost imperceptibly.

"I'd catch my reflection before my brain had time to remember." Damon's voice dropped lower. "And every time..."

A quiet breath escaped him.

"...it felt like somebody had stolen me."

The room stayed silent. Klaus didn't interrupt. Didn't rush to reassure him. He simply let the words exist.

Damon appreciated that more than he wanted to admit. "When everybody kept saying, 'You'll get used to it,'" he continued with a tired laugh, "I didn't want to get used to it." His eyes finally met Klaus's. "I didn't want that face to start feeling like home."

Neither of them spoke.

After a long moment, Klaus said quietly, "It never did."

Damon stared at him.

Klaus held his gaze without hesitation. "It never stopped being your body."

A pause.

"It simply wasn't wearing your face."

Something inside Damon shifted. Not because the words magically fixed anything. Because Klaus had somehow understood exactly what Damon had never been able to explain.

He looked away first. "...Yeah.". His voice came out softer than he'd intended. "That's exactly it."

Klaus simply stared. 

"You know," Damon muttered, "for someone who's spent a thousand years terrorizing civilizations, you've been weirdly supportive."

Klaus laughed softly. "I shall cherish that compliment."

"It wasn't one."

"So you keep insisting."

Damon found himself smiling despite every effort not to. When the smile faded, neither of them looked away. The conversation had stopped feeling like words several minutes ago.

Now it lived somewhere in the space between them. Neither of them seemed particularly eager to break it.

"Klaus..."

His name came out quieter than Damon intended. The Original's expression softened almost imperceptibly.

"Damon."

It sounded different in Klaus's voice. Lower. Warmer. Like he'd been saying it that way for quite some time.

Damon swallowed. "Klaus..."

"I'm listening."

"I'm not a girl anymore."

The words came out somewhere between a warning and a reminder.

Klaus smiled. Not triumphantly. Not teasingly. Simply... knowingly. "Oh, I'm fully aware."

Damon searched his face. There wasn't even the smallest hesitation. Not a flicker.. Not a shadow of disappointment.

As though Damon returning to himself hadn't changed the equation in the slightest. It struck him then with almost embarrassing clarity. Not once, through all of it, had Klaus behaved as though the curse was the interesting part.

Damon had always been the interesting part. His heartbeat betrayed him. Klaus noticed. He took one slow step closer before stopping again.

"I imagine," Klaus said quietly, "you're wondering whether any of this survived the magic."

Damon let out a dry laugh. "You really do enjoy climbing directly into other people's heads."

"I've always preferred certainty."

"And?"

"And I have mine."

Damon looked at him. "I haven't."

"No." Klaus's voice remained calm. "I know."

Another step. Still leaving space between them. Still giving Damon room.

"If you're uncertain..." Klaus paused. "Tell me to leave."

Silence.

Damon opened his mouth. Nothing emerged.

Klaus waited-patient as stone. "If this is only confusion..."

Another pause.

"Tell me."

Again... Nothing.

The bourbon glass rested forgotten in Damon's hand. His pulse seemed absurdly loud.

Klaus's eyes never left his. "Tell me," he murmured, almost gently now, "that you don't want me to kiss you."

The room held its breath. Damon stared at him for what felt like forever. He searched desperately for the easy answer. For the sarcastic answer. For the Damon answer.

Instead...

"Klaus..."

That was all. Just his name.

Soft. Quiet. Enough.

Klaus closed the remaining distance slowly enough that Damon could have stepped away at any moment. He didn't.

When their lips met, there was no urgency. No victory. No desperate hunger.

Only weeks of stolen glances, quiet conversations, late-night visits and carefully hidden concern finally collapsing into something neither of them had to pretend not to understand anymore.

The kiss remained gentle - Testing. Patient.

Klaus's hand rose only after several long moments, fingertips resting lightly against the side of Damon's neck as though asking permission even now.

Damon answered without words. His free hand found Klaus's chest almost absentmindedly, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt before he realized what he was doing.

The kiss deepened naturally, neither hurried nor restrained, carrying all the things they'd never quite managed to say aloud.

When they finally drew apart, Damon rested his forehead briefly against Klaus's. His breathing had become noticeably less reliable.

"This..." he murmured after a long moment, "...is probably a terrible idea."

Klaus's quiet laugh brushed warm across his skin. "Without question."

"Good." Damon closed his eyes for a second before looking up again, a crooked grin finally returning to its rightful owner. "I would've hated to be the only one making bad decisions tonight."

Klaus smiled, that familiar infuriating smile returning at last. "I've discovered, love, that my worst decisions have a remarkable habit of becoming my favorites."

Damon groaned dramatically. "There he is."

"You were beginning to miss me."

"I was beginning to think you'd developed emotional maturity."

"A horrifying accusation."

Damon laughed. A real laugh this time. The kind he hadn't realized he'd been missing. When Klaus reached for his hand, Damon looked down at their joined fingers for a heartbeat. He didn't pull away.

Instead he gave Klaus's hand one small, almost absent squeeze before shaking his head.

"...Don't get used to this."

Klaus's eyes gleamed. "I've found, Damon, that you're quite impossible to frighten."

"No." Damon smirked. "But apparently I'm pretty terrible at frightening you away."

"No," Klaus agreed softly.

"You never were."

....

Morning arrived far too early. Sunlight spilled through the curtains in thin golden strips, warm enough to make Damon bury his face deeper into the pillow before reluctantly opening one eye.

Everything hurt. Not from the spell anymore but from thinking.

"...Fantastic." He rubbed both hands over his face, groaning into his palms. "I survive being magically turned into a woman for nearly a month..."

A pause.

"...and somehow the confusing part happens after."

He sat up slowly, hair sticking in every direction, still wearing yesterday's shirt. The room carried the faint scent of bourbon and smoke. His glass remained on the windowsill where he'd abandoned it.

So did every memory. The conversation. The silence. Klaus standing impossibly close.

The kiss.

Damon let out a long breath before dragging himself toward the mirror. He stopped. His own reflection stared back.

Dark hair. Blue eyes. That familiar crooked mouth. No curse. No borrowed face.

Just Damon Salvatore.

He looked at himself for several quiet seconds before one corner of his mouth lifted.

"Still ridiculously good-looking."

The reflection smirked back.

"Good."

He hadn't realized how much he'd missed recognizing himself until he no longer had to think about it.

A knock echoed downstairs. Not the front door being opened. Someone knocking.

Stefan's voice followed a second later. "You know you can just come in."

"I am attempting to respect boundaries, brother."

Klaus.

Damon closed his eyes. "...You've got to be kidding me."

Stefan laughed downstairs. "You've literally never knocked before."

"I've been accused of many things recently," Klaus replied with perfect composure. "I thought I'd try being polite."

Damon snorted despite himself. Liar.

The man had broken into his bedroom often enough over the past few weeks to qualify for permanent residency. He tugged on his boots and headed downstairs.

Klaus stood in the foyer with two coffees in hand, looking entirely too pleased with himself. Their eyes met. For one brief second neither of them spoke.

Then Damon sighed dramatically. "You know..."

Klaus lifted an eyebrow.

"I was almost starting to enjoy having a normal life again."

Klaus smiled. "And then?"

"And then the universe remembered you exist."

A slow chuckle escaped Klaus.

"I shall endeavor to apologize to fate on your behalf."

"Please do."

Damon accepted the coffee anyway. Their fingers brushed briefly. Neither commented.

Stefan looked between them once. Then twice. "...I'm suddenly regretting leaving you two alone yesterday."

Damon took a sip. "You should."

Stefan frowned. "...Should I ask?"

Both Damon and Klaus answered at exactly the same time.

"No."

Silence.

Stefan looked from one to the other. "...Right." He decided, very wisely, not to ask another question.

Damon hid a smile behind the coffee cup. The world hadn't become any less complicated. If anything, it had become significantly worse.

He'd rejected Elijah.

He'd kissed Klaus.

And somehow, against every ounce of common sense he'd ever possessed, none of it felt like a mistake. Annoying. Incredibly annoying. He took another sip of coffee before muttering quietly enough that only he could hear it.

"Figures."

Klaus glanced sideways. "What was that, love?"

Damon looked at him for a long moment before the corner of his mouth curled. "...Nothing."

It was a lie. For once, it was one Damon didn't mind keeping.

End.