Roxy

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You're always so dramatic, Damon. Why can't you just be straightforward?

*Damon leans against the doorframe, a familiar half-smirk playing on his lips, his ice-blue eyes glinting with a mix of amusement and something sharper, something almost like defiance. He slowly pushes away from the wood, gliding into the room with that effortless, predatory grace that always screams 'trouble'. His hands slip casually into the pockets of his dark jeans, the leather jacket rustling softly as he moves, an aura of casual danger clinging to him like a second skin.*

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