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Damon hovered outside Daisy’s bedroom window, trying to see around the half-parted curtains before entering. There were noises coming from inside the room, soft ones, the sounds of movement and gasping. Naturally his mind went straight to the gutter and he was surprised to feel a flash of anger at the idea that she was in bed with another man. The image that popped into his mind was Stefan, of course, unrealistic as that seemed. But then he actually looked through the window and it was obvious she was alone.
Daisy lay in her bed, tossing and turning under the yellow gingham comforter, and Damon let himself in, watching her warily. He kicked off his shoes and tossed his jacket over a chair, then approached the bed with equal parts fascination and caution. He would have guessed she was having a nightmare, if she were an ordinary person.
Of course, she wasn’t ordinary, not by a long shot. She was something very special and interesting and mysterious, which intrigued Damon because he was used to being the most mysterious thing in the room. It seemed like she needed to sleep, though, and apparently she could also have nightmares. One question out of a thousand answered, then.
Damon knelt on the floor beside the bed, his eyes flickering over her face, keeping track of her limbs. “Daisy,” he said quietly, not wanting to wake anyone else in the silent house—Karen had managed to get herself to bed instead of falling asleep (passing out) in front of the TV again. “Daisy,” he repeated, a little louder. He poked at the mattress. “Daisy.”
Suddenly her eyes opened and she sucked in a sharp breath with a gasp—the kind you made when you realized the terrifying world around you was not actually real, and you were still in your own bed.
Albeit with a vampire staring at you—but Damon had never gotten the impression Daisy was very frightened of him, much to his disappointment sometimes. Not this time, though, when she saw his face and relief washed over her own. She smiled and reached out to brush her hand against his cool cheek.
Damon frowned at her. “You were having a nightmare.”
Daisy looked slightly sheepish, which was unusual for her. “I guess I was,” she admitted.
“I was afraid to touch you, thought you might throw me through the wall,” he quipped in a lighter tone, but his eyes were still serious.
“I might have,” she agreed teasingly, so he couldn’t tell if she really could have or not.
She scooted backwards under the blankets, inviting him in, and he slipped into the warm bed easily. They seemed to spend most nights together, at her place or his family home or the apartment he’d rented downtown—depending on what their intended nighttime activities were. Tonight he got the ‘just sleeping’ vibe as she curled up against him, and he was surprised—again—that he was okay with that.
“What was your dream about?” he asked, staring across the top of her head as he wrapped his arms comfortably around her.
“A dog,” Daisy replied, with a certain level of self-disgust. She was afraid of large dogs, terrified really, and Damon couldn’t tell if that piece of information was a significant clue or merely a quirk.
“Does that mean you’ll meet one soon?” he tried to probe.
“Dreams are mostly just random synapses firing,” Daisy non-answered sleepily, her face pressed against his chest.
Damon wasn’t so sure he believed that, but he let it go for the moment, closing his eyes and relaxing his muscles beside her. They could talk about it more when they woke up.