Much like the city, they never sleep.
New York is brilliant at night, all flashing lights and overwhelming exhilaration. Elena drinks burning liquid and roams the busy streets aimlessly, tugging Damon along behind her, blissfully ignoring the stares from passing people, giggling like a child along.
Most of the night is spent in a bar. She's not sure which one; Damon has the pleasure of selecting locations. He chose the hotel, too. All she can do is admire his expensive taste.
And even when they go back to the hotel, they stay awake, sitting on the magnificent king-sized bed. Laughing and drinking and fucking like there's no tomorrow. They're a wild ball of energy, thrown together, pushing and pulling against each other. She loves it. In a drunken state, all Elena can do is moan appreciatively and admire Damon's back muscles. He presses a trail of hot, open-mouthed kisses all up her collarbone and onto her neck, mumbling incoherent words. She declares her love for him, digging her nails into his back, savouring every exciting moment in this messy, perfect night.
Sleep finally overtakes her at five o clock in the morning. The sky is just lightening. She dreams of Damon.