disclaimer. I sadly own nothing of The Vampire Diaries.

Cause they say home

is where your heart is set in stone

is where you go when you're alone

is where you go to rest your bones

January 17, 2011

I had continued to tutor Damon every day after the ninth, except the weekend. Less so because of his lack of knowledge in the subject but more due to my new recollection of Damon. There wasn't much he could really tell me about the time we knew each other since we had both been so young.

He told me once how he use to hate the fact I was taller and stronger. I laughed. He had definitely grown out of what he described to be a very lanky figure.

In terms of Algebra II, however, it became less about my record and more about my stubbornness to give up. Monday, the fourteenth of January, we had spent thirty minutes arguing about how I had explained thoroughly how you found the value for each variable of the equation—and that's when he told me.

He didn't know how to do Algebra. I was confused at first, most likely from exhaustion and frustration. He continued to explain that he never learned the basics of Algebra I or Pre-Algebra for that matter. And so, we ceased the lesson for that day to instead go downstairs where my father was making burgers. The smell had drifted into my room, driving Damon nearly insane. They smelt delicious.

In simple terms, my father was my father—anyone who wasn't Tyler Lockwood or Matt Donovan and possessed testicles was forbidden to be around me. However, my father soon took a liking to Damon when he spoke of his father's war stories. Grayson Gilbert was a retired Army man who loved talking about his days on the battlefield. Each one, he believed, held a moral lesson (although he told me and my brother Jeremy, who was studying abroad while I was a senior, and all we ever got out of it was war sucked).

Ultimately, it resulted in Damon gaining not only a hamburger but five. My father and I watched with our mouths open, wondering how much he could hold until he finally stopped after the fifth, looking sheepishly at the two of us.

"Sorry," he murmured, wiping the ketchup from the corner of his mouth. "I don't eat enough," he explained, popping the last remaining chip from his plate into his mouth.

"Hell, boy," my father laughed. "One would think you'd been starving," he walked around the table to grab Damon's plate, clapping his shoulder.

It was a nice night.

The next day I went out and purchased two middle school workbooks: one on Pre-Algebra and the other on Algebra I. Obviously, we wouldn't have time to go through both books entirely, pick back up and complete Algebra II, and then have Damon ace the final exam to graduate.

When I showed him the workbooks, he grimaced. It was typical of males not to fancy something that looked like a lot of homework—especially if they didn't get the subject given to them.

"Do I have to do all of that?" he was practically pouting as he slowly flipped through the Pre-Algebra workbook one by one.

"No," I said, giving him a pointed look. "But you're gonna have to do some of it on your own time. If you don't get the questions, you always bring them to me during our sessions and ask me for help," I grinned, earning a small smile from him.

And so, we had been focusing on Pre-Algebra since Tuesday. It was now Thursday.

Pre-Algebra was actually very simple to explain to Damon: simple variables and formulas. Once he figured out it was just a bunch of plugging in numbers already given, he seemed to progress exponentially. He'd brought his workbook to me that day and nearly half of it had been filled out.

I checked the "assignment" I had given to him, only to find the incorrect answers were simple mistakes such as forgetting to flip the integer or misreading his own numbers and doing the entire equation with the number six instead of nine.

Either way, he was able to correct and finish them. Like I mentioned earlier, we wouldn't have the time to go through two separate subjects and then get to Algebra II, so I figured we would continue with Pre-Algebra and Algebra throughout the next few weeks, including the weekends, before switching to Geometry.

Yes, yes, I could ramble about these details all day. Math and the mechanics of my tutoring to Damon—but in this time of my life, I'm much too tired. So I'll get on.

I tutored Damon approximately two to four hours each day. After talking to him for too long, he'll often put his head in his hands and complain about a headache or eye strain. So, I ended that session an hour and a half early.

I figured Damon would head home but the only move he had made was closing his math book and laying his head down at the end of the bed where he was lying on his stomach.

I was shifting uncomfortably where I sat, gazing from him to the bedroom door and then towards the ceiling. It was awkward—I'd never had a male so comfortable in my bed and, besides that, he was supposed to leave.

"Damon," I murmured, watching as his bright eyes open immediately gaze at me.

"Yeah?" he replied.

"Um…Are you gonna…" my gaze flickered towards the door before slowly returning to Damon. The raven-haired boy was smirking at me as he closed his eyes once more.

"Nope," he drawled, resting his cheek to my mattress. In the inside, I smile. He really did seem like he belonged there—and not in any sexual way, believe me that was the last thing on my mind, but in the way your best friend sits on your bed and it's not strange.

I couldn't help but wonder if this is how it would have been if Damon would have stayed in Mystic Falls and grown up with me. He still hadn't given me a reason of why left and he seemed very reluctant to. I was very curious about the boy sprawled out on my bed.

Staring down at him, I noticed his eye peek open to gaze back, a smirk everlasting on his lips. My nose scrunched up as I refrained from grinning back. Instead, I jumped up from the bed and made my way towards the door. I quickly heard the sock-clad footsteps of Damon Salvatore at my heels.

I quickly learned Damon had no regard for personal space and seemed to enjoy doing everything in close proximity—at least with me he did. He walked right behind me like a pup at my heels and would linger when Matt or Tyler approached us during rare occasions when I'd talk to Damon in the hallways of our school. But, of course, it would just be another essential I was oblivious to.

We made our way downstairs where I motioned towards the bookshelf my father had placed by the television whose purpose was to hold movies instead of books. I watched Damon move over to glance at each movie, expecting the name on each spine. Some he would pull out and read the synopsis on the back while others he would simply skim over without interest.

Finally, he plucked out a movie and held it up. His choice floored me. Guys usually picked something in my father's range of favorites: Red Tails, Top Gun, Legends of the Fall, and so on and so forth. Damon Salvatore, however, picked one of the most devastating chick flicks alongside The Notebook: P.S. I Love You.

"You like that movie?" I tripped over my tongue, genuinely surprised. He flashed a crooked grin at me and shrugged his shoulders.

"Yeah."

"And not just for Holly topless in the beginning?"

"I don't watch movies to ogle," he drawled, a small smirk twitching at his lips. "I like the movie. It's sad, it's funny, it's morally uplifting, and it offers a distraction to those who think their lives have gone to shit. I've had a rough few years but I think Holly has it worse than I. It's inspirational."

Once more, I was floored by Damon fucking Salvatore. A lot of the kids at school believed Damon was borderline stupid because of his difficulties with math and it was at times such as that moment where I wished I had a camera to film his words.

He put in the movie while I worked on making the popcorn, getting the soda, and retrieving some pillows.

The first twenty minutes passed by comfortably—even through the infamous shirtless Holly scene and the death of Gerry as I allowed a subtle tear to fall. Damon, always so observant, quickly wiped it away without any lingering touches or longing looks. He rid my cheek of the tear and turned back to the television.

That's what I liked about Damon—he was brief and chaste and quiet. A few days prior I had been thinking about him and I remember describing him as a wallflower, but he was much too big and masculine to be a wallflower, so I renamed him as a walltree.

After those comfortable twenty minutes, however, we had finished our first sodas and set the cans on the coffee table, and Damon quickly demolished the bowl of popcorn so there was no point in holding an empty bowl. Our hands settled at our sides, but we had difficulty with keeping them from brushing the others. The first time it happened, I hadn't noticed my hand had settled on top of Damon's until he slowly slipped it away to scratch the back of his neck.

For the next hundred minutes, we alternated between bringing our attention to the movies and keeping our hands from one another. Towards the end of the movie, Damon settled for crossing his arms across his chest. That was, until I turned into a blubbery, sobbing mess, trying to wipe away my onslaught of tears pouring from my eyes. Damon reached forward to grasp my hand, fingers intertwining with mine as he pulled me closer.

I settled my cheek against his shoulder, both of us allowing my tears to stain his shirt. I had watched this movie with Caroline, Bonnie, Ty, and Matt, but each time the girls ended up just as I was then: a crying mess. And the boys had the pleasure of mocking us for crying. Damon, however, was silent as he watched the screen in front of us until the end credits began to scroll down as "If I Ever Leave This World Alive" by Flogging Molly filled the room.

Damon turned to me, once more ridding my cheeks of the endless stream of tears soaking them. His hands were gentle, thumb wiping my face until my cheeks were dry. And then, he immediately let go of my hand and moved to take the two empty soda cans and bowl of popcorn into the kitchen. He placed the soda cans on the counter before rinsing the popcorn bowl and setting it into the dishwasher

I remember watching him, very confused. He was rather tender and there were things he did that seemed to point to the possibility he may be interested but then…he'd abruptly end them. I was still very curious about who Damon Salvatore was, and the curiosity would go on to exist for decades, but at the time I was determined to figure the raven-haired boy out.

He glanced over his shoulder at me, who was still staring, throwing a smirk in my direction. I blushed, moving my head down to hide my flush cheeks. After a moment, I peeked back up over the couch to see him move upstairs for a brief amount of time before he returned with his backpack and leather jacket.

"It's late. I don't want your father coming home to see I've yet to leave," he murmured, looking rather reluctant even as he grabbed his keys from the dinner table.

My father was a doctor and often worked a late shift and most likely wouldn't be back from another two hours, possibly more. But Damon didn't know that and while my father was quite fond of Damon, Damon probably didn't want this movie night looking anything more than it was.

I nodded, standing as Damon worked on slipping on his boots. I walked with him outside to where his car was parked in front of the house. Stopping beside the Camaro, he turned to me, once more giving me that longing look of his before he slowly smiled.

"Thank you. For having the patience to put up with me," he said softly, opening the passenger door to set his backpack on the leather seat before closing it behind him.

"You're not the worst company in the world, Damon—a pain in the ass, yes, but not the worst company," I replied, much to his amusement. He smirked at me, running a hand through his tousled hair.

"I suppose trying to teach math to someone who's supposed to be legally an adult is…challenging," he drawled. I wanted to tell him how much of an understatement his words were but I didn't want to alter his good mood; they were so rare to witness.

"Have a good night, Damon," I whispered, but as I turned to leave, a cool hand wrapped around my wrist and pulled me back.

What shocked me was feeling a soft pair of lips on my cheek, warmth radiating through my face even as the mouth retreated from my skin. I was dazed as I turned to meet Damon's cerulean eyes. He was close.

Very close.

Our noses were nearly brushing against each other as we exchanged a long look, a kaleidoscope of emotions reflecting in both of our eyes: surprise, anticipation, vulnerability, want. It all seemed to swell inside me as my gaze flickered down to his lips.

Damon's rare moment of lingering ended much too soon, however. He took a step back, having the audacity to smirk breathlessly at me before whispering back, "Goodnight, Elena." And then he was gone, getting into his car and driving away, leaving me standing on the sidewalk nearly panting from the sheer proximity Damon had put us in.

Although I was very much stunned by the action, as I made my way back up my porch and into my home, I found myself smiling, and I was still smiling even as I fell asleep that night.

an. Sorry this took so long! It's been hectic this past two weeks really and I haven't had the time to really write very much. I hope you guys like it, nonetheless. And leave me some reviews so I know I'm doing somethin' right! xx. bigbadamon