It had started out as nothing more than a need to reach the roof of the boarding house. Unfairly high ceilings were always Damon's downfall.

There was no chair high enough, no bit of furniture close enough, for him to clean the glaring red blood-splatter next to his vintage chandelier.

Bonnie walked in — she came and went as she pleased since 1994 (seriously, she had her own key and her own room) — to him tossing a rug in the air fruitlessly.

She stood in the doorway, brows knitted together, face scrunching up into an all-too-familiar judging look.

"Do I even want to know?"

Damon caught the chemical laden rug and turned to frown at her.

He stared at her for a few moments before his eyes widened and a colossal grin stretched out across his face.

Bonnie grimaced. "What?"

"Hey Bon, fancy helping out a buddy to clean our beautiful home?"

She raised an eyebrow. "Is that what you were trying to do, because it looked like you were training to be the seal in a circus show."

He stepped closer to her.

"How do you like heights, Wonder Bon?"

"That's new. And why is that even— whoa!"

Faster than she could defend herself, his hands were on the sides of her waist and he had lifted her up as high as his arms would go.

It wasn't enough to reach the ceiling.

"Let me down!"

He set her down.

"I need to clean the bloodstain up there but I can't reach. I thought maybe if I carried you, you could get it." Damon said, hands out in front of him in a defensive gesture, just in case she got any ideas about aneurysms and the like.

Bonnie looked up to the ceiling, seeming to erase the last few moments, "Can't you just, I don't know, crawl up there?"

Damon crinkled his nose. "I'm not Spiderman, witchy."

"What's with the superhero nicknames today, Damon, did you binge on that secret collection of teenage boy comics you have hidden under your playboy?" She gave him a look.

Damon rolled his eyes. "I can't get up there without ruining my beautiful antique furniture."

Bonnie smirked and stepped back, analysing the height between Damon's head and the ceiling.

"How strong are you, Damon?"

"What? Do you mean that in a —"

"I mean, do you think you can support my weight on your shoulders?"

Damon grinned. "Of course, what are you like, 100 pounds? You're a puny little thing, like a bird."

Bonnie frowned and grabbed the cleaning rug from the coffee table.

"Okay, how do we want to do this?"

Damon crouched down in front of her. "Just get on my shoulders."

Bonnie tried not to smile. But the sight of Damon Salvatore kneeling before her with faux gravitas was too much for even her to bear.

She hesitantly hooked her legs over his shoulders, hunching around his head to hold on to his neck.

"Okay, you ready?"

"Are you?"

He nodded, his chin digging into her forearm. On purpose, obviously.

He straightened.

Bonnie's heart jumped a beat.

"Okay," she said, taking a breath, "I have to stand up."

"A shame, you make an excellent nape-warmer."

She felt her cheeks heating, thankful he couldn't see her face (even if her pounding pulse was a dead giveaway of all her feelings). "Stand still." Her voice betrayed the tiniest of quivers.

"I won't let you fall, Bon."

It was like magic — she would know — the way her body reacted to his voice, the way that before she could even process his words her body instinctively calmed down.

She took another, deep, breath. "I know."

He guided her feet to his shoulders, and didn't even breathe as she used his head to lift herself higher.

His hands were tight around her ankles.

She reached up, stabilizing herself by pressing her palms against the ceiling.

She scrubbed against the stain, rubbing as hard as she could, until she was sure that there was no blood in the vicinity.

"What the hell are you two doing?"

Bonnie started, losing her delicate balance.

True to his promise, he did indeed catch her. She had fallen on top of him, entirely.

She scrambled off him and hurried to check his head.

He was shaking and for a singular, irrational, torturous moment, she wondered if he was convulsing because he was dying (it was stupid, he was a vampire, a crushed skull was just as likely to heal as any other part of him).

But she eventually noticed that the shaking was accompanied by huffs of his laughter, and sighed, shoulders slumping.

Remembering their guest, she sat up, looking to the door.

It was Stefan, a more deeply puzzled look on him than she'd ever seen.

Damon's laughter only got louder. "Aw, Bon-Bon, you should've seen the look on his face!"

She'd thought it'd be a one-time thing. Her sitting on his shoulders like a little girl on top of the world.

It wasn't.

But even if Stefan or Caroline or Elena did notice Damon walking around the boarding house and Bonnie on his shoulders with spray and a rug or a broom or a duster, they didn't make the mistake of asking them.

It was Bonnie and Damon, after all.