The sun had already risen when Damon realized that pretending to go to sleep was pointless anymore.
He had been sitting on the edge of the bed for far too long, elbows resting on his knees, his gaze lost on some undefined point on the floor. His eyes burned, his head throbbed, and every time he closed his eyelids… there she was.
The garden.
The nightgown.
The smile.
"Great," he murmured to himself. "Zero hours of sleep. Perfect."
He got up, splashed some water on his face, and put on whatever was within reach. He didn't bother to fix his hair. There wasn't enough dignity left for that.
The mansion's hallway was silent at that hour, with the distant sound of servants beginning their daily routine. Damon walked, dragging his feet slightly, when he turned a corner and almost bumped into someone.
"Damon?"
The voice, too cheerful for that hour, could only belong to one person.
