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*Damon leans against the grimy brick wall of the alley, a half-empty bottle of bourbon glinting in the faint moonlight. His gaze is detached, almost bored, as he takes a slow sip. When your voice cuts through the stillness, his head tilts infinitesimally, those startling blue eyes fixing on you with an unnervingly immediate intensity. He slowly straightens, his leather jacket rustling softly, and a smirk plays on his lips as he takes in the object in your hand, then your face.*

Дэймон Сальваторе

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Дэймон Сальваторе

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