He leans against the headboard, one pillow crushed under his elbow as she goes through the short pile of DVDs stashed under his TV. He made such a fuss when she suggested he put a TV in his bedroom, stating that such devices could only diminish one's sex drive – not his own, never his own – but his bed partner could take it like a silent invitation for skipping the sweaty part and instead jumping to something ridiculous like watching movies in bed and cuddling. If one doesn't count the dirty talk, Damon is not one for conversation in the bedroom.
"Get under the blankets," she tells him as she walks back towards the bed.
"This bossy attitude will make a man very happy one day." He jokes, obeying her. He's actually starting to feel a bit cold, right now. She doesn't bother to reply to that. It seems so alien to her, the concept of another man in her life. She turned to Enzo because he knew what it felt like to do his best and still feel cut out, still feel like no one really needs you, if not for practical purposes; and now, the idea of letting go of him, of moving on and forgetting about him, makes her feel guilty. And who could be stubborn enough to climb her walls? Who could understand what it means to have a heritage so great, a power so strong, being the last of a bloodline that needs to survive, not only for its sake but for the world? The other option is to conceal a part of herself that would force her to live a crippled life, have a crippled love, and that's worse than being alone.
"Shut up, the movie is starting."
"Kick off your shoes before you dirty my blanket," he tells her, making her roll her eyes.
"Who's the bossy one?" she asks, doing as he says and brushing her cold feet together to ignite some warmth.
"If you like it, I can go full dominant on you." And as he says it he reaches out his hand to grab one of her feet and rub a finger against it to share some of his body heat.
"You're very hot," she notices immediately.
The meaning of her words go over his head with his blessing. Pff, he's totally fine.
"Your flirting isn't very subtle, Bon-Bon," he grins as she presses one hand on his forehead and slides it down over his cheek and towards his pulse point at the base of his neck. She lingers, dazed for a moment, with lowered eyes so he won't read her. Her hand is refreshing and he has to suppress the need to actually purr at the contact. He might feel tired, but she smells very good, and her skin is so soft, and he's in a dry spell, and this might just backfire on him.
"What do you say we skip the chores today and just stay tucked in?" she asks, hopeful, "We can get back to our schedule tomorrow."
"And play doctor?" he asks, raising his eyebrows in his signature suggestive manner, "Who am I to say no to a lady?"
He's always liked being the immortal stud, strong and unstoppable, but that never got him many benefits with someone like Bonnie, so used to taking care of everyone. Oh yeah, she was always pretty adamant in saving his life once they got to forcefully know each other, but he never got to enjoy the fussing and the caring. Suddenly humanity is really starting to grow on him.
"If you don't shut up I'm calling Elena." She sighs, exasperated. At least he's got his wits about him. He might not feel so bad if he can still joke about sex. "She and her colleagues can have fun and use you as a guinea pig for their courses."
"Ugh, might sound exciting but, I assure you, group sex is messy and confusing," he states, sounding disappointed, "I only made one exception with these twins in the seventies—"
"Oh, my God," she grimaces at the idea, "It's disgusting"
"They were so tight. It would have been rude of me to refuse one in favor of the other," he explains. "It could have potentially ruined their relationship," as if that changes everything.
"So thoughtful of you," she replies, bothered. He's been living so many lives before they even met, and he'll live another one – the last one – with Elena, and for him to share his sexual exploits like this should not feel so uncomfortable. At least, she should be used to it by now.
"Very kind of you to notice that." He slides lower to rest his head on top of the pillow.
"Very," she cuts him short before he can take another gross detour down memory lane. "Now, watch the movie before I change my mind and put on Legally Blonde."
"Empty threat. I don't have it."
"So naïve. This is the internet age, buddy," she smiles as she watched the screen, "I can download anything you don't like in a few minutes. I'll tie you down to the bed and make you watch chick flicks until you drop dead." That would be so funny. The plan seems brilliant even to her own ears. She'll start with How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days. Yet, by this point he should have made a remark about her desire to tie him to the bed, and it stings a bit to not have him jump at the chance to embarrass her. She tries to not look disappointed when she turns her head over her shoulder to eye him, and that's when she realizes he's asleep.
Bonnie can feel something tug at her heart, it is painful but in a nice way. His face is turned in her direction and she lowers herself on the bed to better observe him. His breathing is slightly more rapid than her own. He looks paler and she presses her fingers to the pulse point of his wrist.
There goes my heart beating
Cause you are the reason
I'm losing my sleep
Please come back now
It's still so new to her. It seems to make him all the more real, and once again she feels a strange fluttering in the pit of her stomach. His fingers instinctively wrap weakly around her hand. Her heartbeat speeds up and she stops breathing, like the sound its making can possibly wake him up and make him subject her to his merciless teasing.
Bonnie thinks, as her walls inadvertently lowers, that she would like to hear his heartbeat from up close, would like to press down her ear against his chest and feel the strength of it calling to her.
She takes her hand away slowly, so as to not disturb his sleep, and holds it against her chest like he could snag it away any time. Or maybe, a voice in the back of her hand suggests, maybe she's just scared that she's going to touch him; trace the bone under his defined brow with the tip of her finger, the long, dark eye-lashes, the pinkish lower lip.
Right now, exhausted, feverish and defenseless, he is as impossibly pretty as they come.
"You're such a jerk," she whispers warily, waiting for him to open his eyes and reveal that this is a diabolical plan on his part aimed to make her admit that sometimes, occasionally, she thinks she could possibly let herself feel for him something she should never. But he just keeps on sleeping, and even so he's putting her on the spot, like the pompous asshole he is.
There goes my mind racing
And you are the reason
That I'm still breathing
I'm hopeless now
This wedding will never come soon enough, she thinks, getting off the bed, annoyed, and abandoning the remote on the blankets. The moment she turns the knob to leave the room, the light turns softer, gloomier and she turns around to see Enzo sitting where she was, back against the headboard, feet crossed at the ankles and boots on the blankets as he stares at the TV screen . Damon would be such a pain about that if he could see it.
"Bring back some popcorn, will you, love?" his tongue rolls easily off his usual term of endearment and it makes the scene all the more ridiculous.
"What?" she asks, bothered by his attitude. "I have no intention of coming back into this room. If you are so eager to be with him go ahead." She wants to leave the room, possibly this side of the planet, and Enzo should be all about that.
"Com'on. I haven't watched a movie in awhile," he considers with a shrug. "What's the rush?" he asks, looking oblivious, turning his face to give a distracted look to the sleeping man next to him. "He's kind of cute… when he's unconscious and keeps his mouth shut, isn't he?" he asks, grinning at her. Because he has no idea how tormenting the man can be even when silent.
Oh, yeah, she can just picture that. Being on the bed, in the middle of Damon and Enzo, trying to not fall from the edge of the razor blade she's walking on, constantly trying to not precipitate. It's like a horror movie waiting to happen, and the black girl never survives in those.
Bonnie crosses her arms under her breasts, affronted. The lack of air from both the presence of Damon and Enzo's shadow makes her want to run away. "If that's what rocks your boat," she says with a shrug and she can hear him laugh as she leaves the room, barely managing to avoid shutting the door behind her.
Enzo is supposed to be her safe place, her safety net, the one that will always stick by her and be in her corner. Instead he's being a pain in the ass, suddenly wanting to play nice with someone that ignores when he is even around.
As she walks away from Damon's bedroom, the blue begins eating out the cream of the walls. In her peripheral vision, she can catch Enzo falling in step next to her.
"We are susceptible, today," he says jovially.
"We aren't," she piques back, shutting the door in his face as she steps inside her room. Of course, it doesn't do much, for he is sitting on her bed when she turns around.
"I thought you wanted to watch a movie with Damon," she says, faking amazement, "Maybe put your arm around his shoulders during a very dramatic scene…" just to turn around and open a drawer of her dresser.
"You're scared of competition, baby?" he asks, amused.
"Don't baby me," she replies reproachfully, without even bothering to look at him, pulling out a pair of jogging pants, "I wouldn't dare interfering in your quality time with Damon. Everyone knows you loved him first." She adds, heavy with sarcasm, biting her lip when she realize the implication of what she said. She does not love him, not in that way. It's just that sometimes the lines between them blur and no matter how hard she looks for them, she can't find them anymore.
"You're running, gorgeous?" He's not talking about her jogging but she's angry and unwilling to delve into it, so his question easily eludes her.
"Hawk-eye. Nothing gets past you, does it?" She puts on her thermal, long-sleeved cobalt shirt. "Clearly, Marvel doesn't give you enough credit." She makes sure to slip the thumbs into the holes of the sleeve before pulling the elastic fabric down over her bust, leaving him to stare at her naked skin for a few moments longer. She's in the mood to retaliate for him not understanding what she needs him to do, what she needs him to ignore.
Enzo grins melancholically at the scene. He would like to hurt for her to feel better, he would like to disappear for her to be as happy as she made him, but she's not ready to let him go. Not yet, though her thoughts do not hold the same power over him anymore, for her heart is trying to take the reins from her reason.
He whistles appreciatively but when she turns around he's not on the bed anymore.
"Go!" she almost yells, irritated by the fact that he has not chosen to stay when she wasn't capable of keeping him there. "I don't need you!" But she regrets her words the moment they leave her mouth. She hopes he didn't hear the words, wishes she hadn't said them, because she can't swear it's not true.
Bonnie pushes her frustration aside, pulls her hair up in a ponytail and dons the rest of her jogging clothes, slipping in a pair of ear buds to help her concentrating on her body moving, on each muscle contracting and pulling. It's something basic and controllable, something that makes her feel like she has a better grasp of herself, a sense of the direction that she's actively taking. Her life is just a concrete road, then, just a path in the woods. It's the distance she can cover with her feet which hit the route logically chooses.
And yet there's something following her, a feeling that seems to use her as a means of transport, something heavy trying to anchor her down, and it only makes her run faster in the useless effort to leave it behind.
At some point, during her hour-long run, she manages to feel better, more in control, because she's handled much worse, died quite a few times and got herself back on her feet again. The fact that she's back in the town where she was born doesn't make any her less a grown woman, and she's going to perform her duty and then be on her merry way for a place where she can be whatever she wants, whenever she wants, even a woman with a ghost as a boyfriend helping her to pass the time until she's seen enough that she feels like she can go without regrets.
When she gets back to the boarding house she takes her time under the shower and then heads down to prepare something to eat. She's not sure what Damon feels like eating in his state, and maybe he has woken up and gotten a bite without her because he was hungry and she wasn't around. It's not like he can't survive if she's missing for an hour or two. He's managed so well without her during the last few months and he's chosen to be without her for years before coming back with flowers and a sorry-ass excuse for his absence, so she's not going to worry about something so stupid.
Out of courtesy she takes the stairs and goes to his room, knocking softly before cracking the door open and looking inside. On the TV screen the final titles are rolling down and he doesn't answer when she calls his name. She steps inside against her best intentions, because she's still the kind of person that will worry for anyone, so it's inevitable for her to worry about her best friend.
"Damon?" she calls again, softly, looking down at him. His cheeks are pinkish, his skin glowing in an odd way. She uses her palm to brush away the hair sticking to his forehead and she feels her own skin burning with his fever. His breath is harsher, she realizes, and he still won't wake up.
"Damon?" she calls again, this time louder. His eyes seem to fight to open, his lids dragging themselves up, but he seems to give up halfway each time his eyes are almost open.
"Bon," he says, feeling her hand on his face, slipping down to cup his cheek, "Can't take your hands off me, huh?"
She's tempted to relax and ignore the worried feeling in her gut, just out of spite for making her heart swell in her chest at the sight of his new vulnerability, but looking at him feels a lot like being pinched with a fireplace poker.
"I don't suppose you have a thermometer stashed somewhere…" she says, mostly talking to herself. She should go and buy some supplies, but maybe she should call Elena first. She didn't rely on her when her life was on the line, but Damon has a cold and she's about to call her friend for help – it does seem quite ridiculous – so maybe she should wait.
"Your clothes look drenched," she notices, touching the neck of his shirt. "Do you own pajamas?" she asks, still trying to decide what to do first. Make him eat? Help him change? Call Elena? Go to a drugstore? She sits on the edge of the bed, right next to his hip, her hand holding his involuntarily, thumb rubbing over the back of his hand. "You should drink some water," she decides, standing up in a jerk.
"You're worrying," he says, words dragged out by sleep and exhaustion though his hand uses the little strength he possesses to not let go of hers. He doesn't even try to open his eyes.
"I'm not," she denies, sitting down again, "I'm organizing a line of action."
"I can hear your mind worrying." He makes an effort to look at her, and though he looks kind of pleased with it, he insists, "Don't worry," like her peace of mind is a more pressing matter, and then closes his eyes, falling easily back into sleep.
She feels like he's just pinched her heart with his stupidly long fingers. He's kind of cute… when he's unconscious and keeps his mouth shut, isn't he? She can hear Enzo's voice, though they are alone.
Bonnie lowers her eyes to see his fingers still weakly gripping her own, her thumb draws a circle over the back of his hand and she needs to stay still for a few moments, just letting their hands touch like this, before she leaves him to get a bowl of cold water and a couple of towels, placing them on the nightstand next to him.
Bonnie folds one towel lengthwise, soaks it in the water, and wrings out the excess to place it on Damon's forehead. She does the same with the other towel, using one end of it to press it on his pulse point at the wrist, gently turning his hand in her own to use the towel to freshen the skin of his palm, the back of his hand, the length of his muscular, wiry arm, following a green vein which looks more apparent under his pale skin.
It's a simple task that she performs slowly, tenderly, for long. She only stops when she accidentally hits the clock on the nightstand and looks at the hand pointing at the hour. Once he gets better she'll get angry at him for turning her into this mother hen, this private nurse (he'll probably make a dirty joke about it) so devoted to his well being, and she'll get angry at herself for forgetting how just one hour ago she was supposed to be a woman that would only move forward, to know the world and squeeze every ounce of novelty and power out of it, so that she can say to Enzo one day that she has truly lived, but now, right now, she shrugs every doubt with ease and she walks down the stairs to get a bottle of water and make him some chicken soup.
She has to call him a few times before he makes some sound of recognition, still refusing to cooperate.
"Com'on, wake up," she insists, "I need you to take your shirt off," she adds, softening her tone, trying to lure him to open his eyes.
"Huh?" that gets his attention, and he opens his eyes to look up at her. Bonnie places a fresh shirt on his lap and slips one arm under his back to help him up as she uses her free hand to provide some leverage against the mattress. Her arm, compared to the size of his upper body, is short, so their chests press together in the effort to help him sit. "God, you're heavy," she laments to ignore the hot, sweaty sensation. "Help me." Shehopes he'll make more of an effort, but he just circles her body with his arms and lets her do all the work.
"I'll have you know," he says, trying to grin but failing miserably, "that sexy nurse attire would have been a better motivation," and she rolls her eyes at that.
"Whatever," she replies, slightly breathless, "Now let's take this off."
"Bold Bonnie," he comments as she takes the hem of his shirt and pulls it up and off of him. He manages to sit straight for the few moments she needs before resting his back against the head of the bed. He's so tired he doesn't even bother keeping his eyes open.
The long, dark lashes only fly up when he feels the cool sensation of a towel pressed gently against the skin of his collarbone. His blue eyes quietly studying the way Bonnie concentrates on the task at hand, never looking at his face, biting her lower lip every now and again as she dries the sweat off his skin, along the lines of his defined pectoral muscles. Damon wants to make a joke about it, to break the moment and feel less like an asshole, but he doesn't out of fear that she'll stop touching him.
She uses one finger to push back a strand of hair that fell over her eyes and pulls back to tell him, "I need to do your back." Bonnie moves, pointing one knee into the mattress as he pushes his body forward to give her space. Damon rests his elbows over his thighs and let her slip in the small space behind him, feeling her lap pressed against the small of his back. The closeness is nice and he enjoys it silently so she won't have a reason to take it away from him, but it lasts briefly before she decides he's good enough to put the fresh shirt on.
Bonnie helps him dress, and he protests, "I'm fine, you know, I'm not handicapped or anything," but only once he's halfway inside the shirt and she ignores him like a pro. Bonnie pulls down the shirt over his stomach, hand brushing against the skin under his navel, and he can feel the slight quiver of muscles reacting, making him groan. Her eyes grow larger as she looks up to his face and he grimaces. "I feel like someone's been beating me up… but the only time I forced myself was last night when I've brought you up the stairs to put you to bed… I think you should consider going on a diet," he jokes to cover up his uneasiness.
"Shut up," she protests, giving him a surly look, "I'm very light and you're a rheumatic old man."
Damon smiles at that, at her endearing frowning mouth, at the way his chest warms up in a way that he likes too much. He's not used to think of himself as weak, not physically at least, and his pride refuses to consider the possibility, but Bonnie doesn't make it look like such a horrible thing.
Maybe he can really do this, grow old and rheumatic. Maybe he can. It doesn't look half that bad right now.
#
Note: the song I used in this chapter is "You are the reason" by Calum Scott. I know I write slowly, if you read my profile you'll know how busy I am, but please try to be supportive and patient.