Maybe it came from finding out he came from a family of werewolves or constantly searching people's reactions to make sure they knew nothing of his secret, but whatever the reason, Mason Lockwood was not easily shocked. It took a lot to truly surprise him. This could account for why his jaw dropped to the floor when he opened the door that night to find Damon Salvatore looking wickedly repentant and holding a bottle of whiskey.
"Olive branch," he said in a low voice, aiming for innocent, but missing the mark by a mile.
"Really? Looks more like whiskey. Moon Mountain Distillery?" Mason couldn't help but chuckle.
"What? I've heard it's a good label." He flashed that famous Damon Salvatore grin, and Mason could see why his devilish charm was all some people could talk about. That the other people could only talk about how he was a pathological liar, psychopath, vampire and murderer, was entirely beside the point.
There were a few moments of silence before Damon interjected, "You going to invite me in, or just take my peace offering and slam the door in my face?"
Mason considered doing just that before deciding he was curious why Damon was there. Besides, they had some unfinished business to take care of.
"I guess you can come in," he replied, feigning disinterest. Damon strolled languidly through the doorframe, making sure to brush by Mason on his way in. He felt a flash of heat in the pit of his stomach, but kept his facial expression carefully set on neutral.
As Damon turned his back to him to walk further into the foyer, Mason picked up the nearest heavy object – in this case a fourteenth century Ming vase (his sister-in-law would not be pleased) – and swung it swiftly at the back of Damon's head. Now it was Damon's turn to be surprised as he hit the floor with an inelegant thud, and, rubbing the back of his scalp, turned around slowly to look at Mason.
"That was for earlier," the werewolf stated, in way of an explanation. "Want a glass of this?" he asked, pointing to the whiskey.
"I feel like I should pour it on the back of my head," shot back Damon, sulking a little.
"I guess that's what happens when you stab someone. They tend to take it personally. You're lucky I didn't break out the silver bullets," Mason quipped, although most of his anger had already dissipated.
Damon glared at him for a few seconds, then accepted the hand Mason was offering and sprang to his feet at vampire speed, at the same time grabbing the bottle of whiskey and sauntering into the kitchen.
"Why are you here, Damon?" Mason asked, as the vampire expertly poured out two glasses and handed one to him.
"I told you already." Damon was looking bored by this point. "I want to make peace."
"Is that an apology for stabbing me earlier this evening?" Mason wanted to stretch this out for as long as (super)humanly possible.
To his surprise, Damon put down his drink and sped over so their faces were mere inches apart. Mason found himself unable to look away as Damon stated, "Yes. I am sorry."
They stood there, eyes locked, for what seemed to Mason like a couple of hours as he once again felt warmth spread throughout his torso, until Damon finally pulled away, explaining casually, "Despite my obvious charms, I have very few friends in Mystic Falls at the moment. It occurred to me that I had wasted an opportunity to make one."
Although his tone was outwardly what Mason assumed was typical Damon – arch, bemused, mocking – there was an undercurrent he couldn't quite place. Sincerity? Sadness? Regret?
"You said earlier you didn't want to be enemies," continued Damon. "And yes, I know that was before I stabbed you with the silver knife," he said quickly, anticipating Mason's protest, "but I was hoping we could just hit the reset button."
Mason hesitated before replying. He decided showing was better than telling, so he slowly removed the denim shirt he'd been wearing.
"I feel like this," he said, gesturing to the bloodied bandage wrapped around his torso, "is not something one should have to put up with from one's friends."
Now it was Damon's turn to look surprised. He considered Mason carefully for a moment, then sped over to him in a blur; it took all of Mason's self control not to jump a few feet in the air – really, this whole vampire super speed thing was distinctly unfair.
Damon slowly, almost gently, placed his hand over the bandage, raising his eyes to look into Mason's.
"I changed my mind. I don't want to be friends," Damon said matter-of-factly.
"No?" responded Mason, trying to keep his voice steady and casual.
"Nope." Damon smiled that wicked grin again and, wrapping his fingers in Mason's hair, pulled him into a long, hard kiss.
No, Mason Lockwood was not easily surprised. Before his brain shut off entirely, he mused briefly that he now had to make an exception for Damon Salvatore, who was clearly capable of infinite surprises.