AN: Oh em gee! So sorry to have updated this late! I am sorta running after a deadline to finish this fic, but I don't think I can meet it thanks to reality. Anyway, thank you again to those who gave such sweet reviews last chapter.

Happy reading! ;)

After three bittersweet days, Bonnie had significantly felt better, but she refused to acknowledge that it was because of Django's absence. The price of her recovery felt like a joke, especially when her heart broke whenever she thought of her baby. She didn't know it was possible to have fallen in love with her fluffy snowball in such a short span of time. It was as if she and Django had always been meant to have that beautiful, unconditional love.

Still, still, Bonnie liked to attribute her weakened immune system to the fact that she was about to get her period. Didn't every girl experience poor health before their uterus bled like fuck? Surely, it wasn't just about Django—though Damon and Caroline insisted otherwise.

"Just great." Bonnie scrunched her face. "When have the two of you agreed on something anyway?"

Caroline fluttered her lashes at her. "Since the day he started to see you the way I do." Kissing her best friend's cheek, she gave Bonnie a wink before going to her next class.

On the bright side, Bonnie finally got the chance to catch up on the classes she'd missed. It was a little fun to get surprise hugs from her other friends, them saying how much they've missed her, etc. It was a huge contrast from the terrible ambush she experienced at the diner a few days ago with her supposed 'forever sister'.

Somehow, you'd still think that things were back to normal in her life.

Sort of.

Bonnie was functioning perfectly, albeit a few runny nose incidents, but if she had a secret admirer who knew and observed her every move, he would notice that unlike before, her phone was unusually glued to her left hand. Whatever she did, she had the gadget clutched in her fingers, and once in a while, she would tap away to the mysterious person who seemed to be so greedy of her attention.

Caroline probably had a hunch, Bonnie thought. But she wouldn't admit that most of her days were spent messaging Django's self-professed 'co-parent'. Her senses tingling, Bonnie knew that he was about to text her again, and just as expected, her phone brightened her dim room.

How was your day?

My dad doesn't even ask me that. Shut. Up. Bonnie sent the text with a giggle. It was fun to sound like her age sometimes. Sometimes.

Remember our agreement, Bon-bon. No talk, no Django. Damon replied immediately, manipulative as always.

The truth was, Damon didn't really force her to be his 'text-mate', but she had to force herself to embrace such a role to constantly ask about how he was treating their puppy. At least, that's what she liked to tell herself. For the record though, Bonnie was itching to go to the boarding house to reclaim Django, but she was aware that doing so would be a bad idea for her now-dormant allergies. Soon, she promised herself. She'll get to visit, and hopefully, take him home where he rightfully belonged.

Bleh. School good. I'm good too. Might visit Django soon.

Huh. When

I dunno? Tomorrow?

When Kelly Clarkson began singing "I Do Not Hook-Up", Bonnie's emerald eyes widened in alarm as she dropped her phone like it was on fire. Her stomach fell a thousand feet down the edge of nothingness. Feeling naked despite wearing her comfy pajamas, she cancelled the call, and jumped away.

Fuck. Shit. FUCK! This was the real reason why Bonnie had been religiously texting Damon. How many days had she avoided this from happening? And here she was, thinking that she had effectively distracted him from his intentions. Stupid, stupid!

When they parted the day after The Fucking Kiss, Damon had called her immediately after that, but like what she did today, she hang up on him. She insisted through text that she had sore throat and her cold was really bad; Give me time to recover. From the kiss or the sickness, Bonnie didn't know anymore. When he tried calling again the next day, she had become quite a believable fiction writer if she could say so herself: I'm making chicken soup for my sniffles. Studying, exam, but I could text? Magic time—and no, I am not doing THAT.

Because she didn't, no, couldn't talk to him. Talking to Damon on the phone about anything other than the usual strategies to fake her death to save Elena later, Bonnie just didn't know how to handle it. It was bound to get weird, right?

What if he asked her about the kiss, what then?

What if he'd laugh at her for making a big deal about it? Hell, she was still thinking about it! Because how could she not?

Damon was the prince of surprises, and when he kissed her, as much as she didn't expect that, he was the type who did that being who he is. But kissing him? So not on the agenda, much less do it while she had a terrible cold and was talking funny. Strange enough as it was, in spite of their unlimited messaging time, he didn't taunt or tease her about it. He didn't even mention it.

One thing was for sure by now: the memory of their two kisses made Bonnie feel things, things she never thought she'd ever feel for him specifically.

Was life playing a cruel joke on her?

Probably.

So for days, Bonnie had been messaging him relentlessly so he wouldn't notice her certain aversion to voice calls. Because talking to him on the phone would be as good as having him whisper directly on her ear, and she was ticklish.

Fearing she'd hear Kelly's voice again, she breathed a sigh of relief when he texted her instead, I want to hear your voice. Talk to me.

The butterflies in Bonnie's stomach decided to practice kamikaze dips and dives. Fuck this shit, she thought, and typed back, Bad timing. About to go to bed.

Do you really want me to ask what you're wearing?

Unconsciously looking down on her ratty pajamas, Bonnie huffed. Pervert!

Bonnie. Answer. Or I'll be having a sip of…

FINE!

Her phone stilled.

Then Kelly sang: Oh sweetheart put the bottle down, You got too much talent…

Bonnie wanted to run towards her bedroom wall and fall unconscious on the floor in an effort to stop her entire body from trembling. Chillax, Bonnie. Chill. The kiss didn't mean anything. The kiss doesn't mean anything. It was just a spur of the moment, a big mistake—

Holding her breath, she takes the call, thinking, FML.

"Bonnie."

"Damon."

"How's Django?" she asked casually, quickly. Obviously, she was a little too excited to even sound sincere. "Are you sure you're not overfeeding him?"

"Yes, mom, I am not overfeeding Django," he replied in a bored tone. "I could still hear a little snot in your voice, Bennett. Hmm. Maybe I should keep him for good."

Fuck you, Damon, she immediately snapped in her head, but chose not to. She couldn't use the F word on Damon, knowing he could always use it against her. "I'm better, ok?" she asked in annoyance, trying hard not to let him get to her. "And why'd you call, huh? We're already texting." She frowned when she heard fumbling on the other line. "Hello?"

"Wait a sec—DAMMIT, DJANGO!" Damon's voice hollered from the other line. Completely overcome by anger and irritation, he yelled again, "NO! DON'T CHEW ON THAT!" He cursed again, and she heard more scratching sounds from the other line. "FUCK! I just bought these!"

Bonnie frowned, feeling her ear hurt. She had a bad feeling about this.

"Dammit," Damon grumbled, "This is why I hate kids. Thank heaven and hell I don't have 'em."

For a while, Bonnie tuned out everything he had said but the last part. He hates kids. DAMON HATES KIDS! To emphasize his point, her uterus squeezed in horrid pain that she almost hissed in agony.

Other girls had it easy with their menses, but not Bonnie. Growing up, she had no mom (or dad) to give her warm water bottles to soothe her. Grams had given her some funky-tasting tea during those rare times that she was home from teaching. She hated the dysmenorrheal pains so much that she swore that all the pain would amount to something in the future—especially when her doctor told her it was normal for her. The only good thing she could get out of the hardship was to think that this made her ultimate dream even more real. Surely, she wouldn't want to die a spinster without kids! She remembered getting her first cramp years ago, and she swore to herself that even if Leonardo Di Caprio would ask her to marry him, but he didn't like kids—she would say no. The same thing applied to Damon.

I am going to use my fucking uterus even if it kills me.

The memory of their kiss, their progress, was suddenly buried far deep down the flesh and blood of her womanhood, and the butterflies in her stomach had gone (at least temporarily). As Bonnie listened to Damon rant about how 'Django was this and Django was that', she pulled out her list and wrote in agony as her cramps flared, 6) He HATES kids. Didn't he say Django was 'our child'? Way to dig your own grave, buddy. Bonnie inwardly laughed darkly (and a bit bitterly). I am so not marrying you, Damon. "Like ever."

"What?" Damon asked, suddenly stopping his mindless complaints. He clicked his tongue. "Bonnie, are you even listening to me?"

"You bet," she said in more ways than one. She heard the disappointment in her tone, the sadness creeping out in the open. Why did he keep on adding more numbers to her list? At least we're not talking about those kisses.

"Bonnie, are you really listening to me?"

Capital A for Annoying. Rolling her eyes, Bonnie replied, "Yes, Mister Attention Whore…"

"I'm about to tell you something serious. Are you sure you're listening?"

"OMFG, Damon, YES I'm LISTENING TO YOU!"

"Great," Damon said, the pitch of his voice uncharacteristically different. "Now, don't say anything just yet, alright? No judging, promise?"

"No judging."

"Promise?

Was that sincerity in his voice? Why was he breathing so close to the mouthpiece? He's such a loser—

"Bonnie, I think like you. Scratch that. I really, really like you it's stupid."

Expect Damon to make a romantic confession and ruin it all by his own efforts.

Wait, did he just say...? WAIT! Bonnie reprimanded herself. "But you don't like kids." She didn't know if she said it out loud, but she had to remind herself somehow. Because him not liking kids was a major no-no. Right?

"Huh?" Damon asked. Apparently, he was out of it. He was probably drunk, why he said it. Because instead of asking her to repeat what she said, he began talking about how he had been 'thinking' about her, blah, blah, blah. "I just told you I like you, and you're not even… You are unbelievable, Bennett."

"But you like me, huh..." she trailed off, not really taking notice of his restless mumblings. Why did she feel the need to relish what he just told her? Why did she feel happy and sad at the same time? Then again, why did he have to be such a dork? Like her previous 'He's a Bad Poet' reason, Damon probably had good intentions, but made horrific, horrific execution. He was being such a boy, she was being sexist, but it still made her heart flutter.

"Pfft. Now you want to hear it again? Vain, vain, Bonnie. You're so vain." When Damon sighed loudly on the other line, he saved both of them from awkwardness by telling her about what Django was doing. She didn't say anything for at least half an hour, listening to him as his Django narration turned to unheard stories about a younger pair of Salvatore brothers playing with a stray dog they wanted to keep but couldn't.

Bonnie was all ears, yes, but at the same time, busy with her own thoughts, her finger tracing up and down the list about why considering Damon as her future husband was a bad idea. As much as her resolve was still impact, she had to give it to Damon—he really was a character that was hard to resist. She wanted to throw her list away, wanted to memorize it at the same time.

With the fading sound of Django's barking on the background, "Goodnight, Bonnie," was the last words she heard before drifting off to dreamland. There she would cradle a blue-eyed baby with mocha skin, and there was this man, who definitely gave her a run for her money, taking his hand and hers, two matching gold bands on their ring fingers. Glancing at the beautiful child on her bosom, she thought, But you can't have kids, Damon.

I want kids.

I need a family.

I need...

What was supposed to be a happy dream, only made Bonnie cry in her sleep.

AN: Whew. Love, love for Bamon fuel, please! ;)