Road trip
The air smelled like sunscreen, warm pavement, and freshly cut grass—the kind of summer day that made everything feel slower, softer. Safer.
Caroline’s suitcase hit the ground with a loud thud beside the camper van, the wheels catching on the uneven gravel of the driveway.
“No, this is actually ridiculous,” she said, pushing a strand of hair out of her face as she yanked the handle back up. “There isno wayall of this is fitting.”
You leaned back against the side of the camper, the metal warm from sitting in the sun all morning. The heat seeped through your shirt as you crossed your arms, watching her struggle with a small smirk.
“It’s three days,” you said. “What did you pack, a backup outfit for every possible emotional breakdown?”
Caroline gasped, offended. “You never know what might happen.”
Bonnie walked past the two of you, tossing her duffel bag into the back with an easy motion. It landed with a soft thump against Stefan’s neatly organized stack.
“That’s exactly the problem,” she muttered, brushing her hands together. “Somethingalwayshappens.”
You glanced at her, raising a brow. “It’s just a trip.”
Bonnie didn’t answer right away. She just gave you a look—quiet, knowing—before climbing into the camper.
Stefan stepped out a second later, ducking slightly under the doorframe. He wiped his hands on a cloth, glancing between all of you like he was mentally checking everything off.
“We’re good to go,” he said. “Just need to finish loading.”
There was something steady about him, something grounding. The kind of presence that made everything feel normal, even when it wasn’t.
You smiled, pushing yourself off the van. “Finally.”
For a moment, it felt perfect.
Sunlight filtering through the trees.The low hum of cicadas in the distance.Your friends’ voices overlapping in easy, familiar rhythm.
Summer.
Freedom.
No problems.
Then—
A car door slammed.
Sharp. Sudden. Wrong.
The sound cut clean through the moment, like something had snapped.
You froze.
Your stomach dropped before your mind could even catch up.
“No,” you said under your breath.
Caroline blinked, halfway through lifting her suitcase. “No what—”
“I know that sound.”
Bonnie went still.
Stefan didn’t move at all.
Slowly, you turned.
Black car. Parked just off the driveway.
And leaning against it like he had been there the whole time—
Damon Salvatore.
Sunglasses on. Arms crossed. One ankle hooked lazily over the other.
That smirk already in place.
“Miss me?” he called out.
Silence stretched.
You stepped forward before you could stop yourself, gravel crunching under your shoes. “No. Absolutely not.”
Damon pushed himself off the car, straightening slowly, like he was in no rush at all. Like this—your reaction—was exactly what he wanted.
“Aw,” he said, pulling his sunglasses off and sliding them into his shirt. “And here I thought you’d be thrilled.”
“Thrilled isn’t the word I’d use.”
“Hostile?” he suggested, taking a few steps closer. “Because I’m getting a lot of that.”
“Good,” you snapped. “That means I’m being clear.”
His gaze flicked over you, slow and deliberate. Not subtle. Not apologetic.
Interested.
Caroline looked between the two of you, eyes wide. “Okay, wow. This is... a lot.”
Bonnie moved to stand beside you, her voice lower. “You don’t have to sit near him.”
“Oh, I won’t,” you said.
Damon tilted his head slightly, like he was studying you. “Confident.”
“I don’t do well with arrogant, reckless, self-absorbed—”
“Devastatingly charming?” he cut in smoothly.
You stared at him. “Was that supposed to help your case?”
“No,” he said. “I just like hearing you talk about me.”
You turned sharply toward Stefan. “You’re letting him come?”
Stefan hesitated—just for a second.
That was enough.
You let out a breath, dragging a hand through your hair. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“It’s just a trip,” he said.
You let out a quiet, humorless laugh. “Yeah. That’s what I thought too.”
—
Ten minutes later, the camper was moving.
Music played softly from the front, something Caroline had put on, but it was drowned out by the sound of tires rolling over the road and the occasional rattle of something not packed as securely as Stefan thought.
And somehow—
You ended up in the back.
Next to him.
You stared straight ahead, gripping the edge of the seat as the van turned onto the main road. Trees blurred past the window, streaks of green and gold.
“Switch seats,” you said flatly.
“No.”
You turned your head slowly. “That wasn’t a suggestion.”
Damon sat back like he had all the space in the world, one arm stretched lazily along the back of the seat behind you. His fingers brushed just close enough to your shoulder to be intentional.
“I’m good right here.”
“I’m not.”
Now he looked at you.
Really looked.
His eyes moved over your face, slower this time. More focused. Like he was trying to figure something out instead of just provoking you.
“Sounds like a you problem.”
Your jaw tightened. “Move.”
“Make me.”
The van hit a small bump in the road, jolting both of you slightly closer together.
Neither of you moved back.
From the front, Caroline’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Oh my God.”
“Caroline,” Stefan warned.
“What? I’m just observing.”
You ignored them.
“Last chance,” you said quietly.
Damon leaned in.
Too close.
Close enough that you could see the shift in his expression—less teasing now. Something sharper underneath.
“You’re not scared of me,” he murmured.
You held his gaze. “Should I be?”
A flicker of something crossed his face.
Gone almost instantly.
“Most people are.”
“I’m not most people.”
A pause.
Then—
That slow, dangerous smirk returned.
“Good.”
You turned away first.
You hated that.
—
The road stretched on, sunlight flickering through the trees in uneven patterns, shadows moving across the floor of the camper.
Your knee brushed his when the van took a curve.
You stilled.
He didn’t move.
Neither of you did.
The contact stayed.
Intentional now.
You focused on the window, on the blur of passing scenery, on anything but the way your pulse had picked up.
After a moment, you felt it.
His gaze.
Heavy. Unmoving.
When you finally turned your head slightly, you caught him already looking at you.
No smirk this time.
Just something quieter.
More dangerous.
“What?” you said.
His eyes didn’t leave yours.
“You hate me that much?”
“Yes.”
Too fast.
Too sharp.
His expression shifted, slow and deliberate.
A smile followed—but not the playful kind.
Something darker.
“Good.”
Your stomach tightened.
He leaned in just enough that no one else could hear, his voice low, almost amused—
“That makes this a lot more interesting.”
And just like that—
The sunlight didn’t feel as warm.
The air didn’t feel as safe.
And you had the sudden, sinking feeling
that this trip wasn’t going to be fun.
