A/N: I'm baaaack. Not that I've been gone for that long. I've just been off collaborating with Vesuvious. ;) If you haven't yet, you should totally go read our fic. There's only one chapter right now, but it's going to be epic. No lie.

So this fic is actually going to have a plot and angst! (I know, I'm as shocked as you are.) I snagged the title from Bob Dylan's 'Make You Feel My Love', which has sort of become my official Daremy song. (Those of you who've read Trust probably remember the songfic…)

All right, enough shameless plugs from me. Happy reading and I look forward to your reviews. :)

Jeremy flops backwards onto his bed, huffing out a sigh and staring up at his too-familiar ceiling in frustration. He's twenty-two, about to turn twenty-three in a few weeks actually, and this isn't where he belongs. He should be getting a crappy apartment somewhere with some equally questionable roommates, living on ramen noodles so he can afford to pay for canvases and charcoal and paint. Instead, he's in his childhood bedroom, his four years of (a possibly useless) art school education still packed in the boxes crammed inside the room.

He can hear Tucker running circles around the living room, blaring Dora the Explorer or whatever lame show kids watch now. And Ric and Jenna are laughing at some adorable toddler thing Jackson is doing, and yeah, Jeremy's happy for the Saltzmans' domestic bliss. He just doesn't want to witness it up close and personal. Except he doesn't really have another choice because he has no fucking clue what he's supposed to do with his life now that he's finished college. And even if he did have a clue, it's not like he has any money to make it happen. He rolls off of the bed and tries to remember which box his sheets are packed in. Maybe this will be less depressing if he isn't lying on a bare mattress like he's living in some kind of crack den.

He finds his sheets, but the navy blue bedding doesn't make him feel better. It just reminds him of the bed he left behind in Savannah. Not that there was anything special about it or anyone special in it. It was just there instead of here. Jeremy starts pulling things out of boxes at random, but he gives up with clothes and books and shoes and miscellaneous crap he accumulated over four years strewn around his room. He wanders out into the hallway, past his sister's room which is now Tucker's. He wonders if Jenna and Ric knew he was going to need a place to figure his shit out once he graduated, since they redid the guest room rather than giving Jackson Jeremy's room. Or maybe they just figured Elena could always stay with Stefan anytime she came into town.

Jenna smiles brightly at him when he steps into the kitchen.

"All unpacked?" She asks.

"Not really." Jeremy shrugs. "It's kind of a disaster zone in there, actually."

"Do you want help?" Jenna offers. He should probably say yes, because at least then it will get done, but he can't quite bring himself to accept the fact that he's here. Unpacking makes it real, and he's perfectly happy to be in denial for a little bit longer. Plus, his shift at the Grill starts in twenty minutes.

"Jermy!" Tucker collides with Jeremy's kneecaps, and he figures he should probably start getting used to being around his young cousins. It's fine, seeing them on holidays; in small doses they're pretty adorable. Living with them is going to be something else entirely, he's already sure of that. Jackson gurgles at him from his high chair, and there is a mysterious orange substance smeared across his face and all over his bib, and Jeremy kind of wants to draw it, if he thought the baby would sit still long enough. But Jack is two, and in about thirty seconds he'll be squalling to get down from the table.

"I've gotta head out."

"Where are you going?" Jenna frowns, trying to coax Jack into sitting still so she can wipe the orange goo (seriously, what had he been eating?) off his face.

"I have work tonight."

"I didn't realize you were starting so soon." If he didn't think it would make her cry, Jeremy would probably remind her that the whole point of living at home is so he can save money to move away sooner.

The May evening is cooler than usual, and it smells like there's rain on the way. Jeremy shoves his hands into his pockets, choosing to walk the ten minutes to the Grill rather than drive since he already spent seven hours in the car this morning. He walks the familiar path to the Grill on autopilot. He's been bartending there for a few summers, and he figures since he knows the job and the tips are good, it will be okay until he comes up with a real plan.

The Grill is pretty quiet when he walks in, the lull between the high school crowd and dinner. Matt is busing tables, getting ready for the dinner rush, and Jeremy waves to the older man as he heads towards the bar. They've fallen into a comfortable friendship after several summers working together.

Jeremy spends his first hour behind the bar pouring drinks for regulars and catching up with Matt. Ric stops in to say hello on his way home from work, giving Jeremy an awkward one-armed hug over the bar.

"Good too see you, Jer." Ric says, like he didn't just see Jeremy last week at his graduation.

"You too, Ric. Can I get you a drink?"

"Nah, Jenna's got dinner on the table. Should we save you a plate?"

"Don't worry about it. I'll grab something here."

Ric nods and pushes off the bar, "See you at home."

"Yep."

Once Ric leaves, Jeremy loses himself in pulling pints and mixing drinks and generally being sociable enough to earn some decent tips. Since it's a random Wednesday, the bar stays pretty quiet, so Jeremy can just lean against it and watch the customers. Now that he's an artist, it's not creepy, it's just research. For the most part, Mystic Falls puts up with his eccentricities anyway. It's a small town, and everybody knows that he's Jeremy Gilbert, the boy who doesn't quite fit. It used to bother him, but he stopped caring a while ago.

It's an hour before closing when the familiar voice drifts over the bar.

"Well, well, well, if it isn't little Jeremy Gilbert, all grown up."

Jeremy sighs and turns towards Damon. "Shouldn't you be off terrorizing innocents somewhere?"

Damon smirks. "Haven't you heard, Jeremy? There's no place like home."

Jeremy rolls his eyes. "Can I get you anything, or are you just here to annoy me?"

Damon slides onto a barstool and leans forward, planting his elbows on the bar. "I'm offended. We're just two old friends—

"No we aren't."

Damon continues as if Jeremy hadn't interrupted. "And when I heard you were back, I thought I'd come and say hello, catch up, buy you a drink."

"That seems pretty far out of your way. Last I heard, you were in Southeast Asia."

"So you've been keeping tabs on me then." Damon's eyes glitter triumphantly.

"No." Jeremy says, "I have no control over the things Elena decides are newsworthy." Jeremy doesn't intend to sound defensive, but somehow he does and Damon just smirks wider. "Can I get you a drink?"

"Surprise me," Damon says with a wink.

If Jeremy were feeling vindictive, he might make Damon some sort of fruity frozen girly drink (preferably an expensive one), but he can't be bothered so he just mixes a Jack and Coke and slides it over to the vampire.

Damon takes a sip and pulls a face. "Honestly. Why all you humans feel the need to taint perfectly good alcohol with sugary battery acid is beyond me."

Jeremy snorts. "I'll be sure to remember that for next time."

"Who says I'll be back?" Damon arches an eyebrow.

Jeremy shrugs, "Just figured you wouldn't come all this way for no reason."

Damon looks uncomfortable for a moment, before he schools his face into a more neutral expression. Jeremy doesn't bother trying to figure out why. He gave up trying to understand Damon years ago.

"Why are you back?" Damon frowns, looking at Jeremy like he's a puzzle he can't quite put back together.

"I don't know what the fuck I want to do with my life." Jeremy says flatly.

"Well, that makes two of us." Damon raises his glass in Jeremy's general direction and downs the rest of his drink quickly. "I'm gonna go. Innocents to terrorize, and all that."

He watches Damon leave, unable to explain the surge of disappointment he feels when the vampire exits the bar and disappears into the night.

Jeremy finishes his shift and bums a ride home with Matt in the same truck Matt's had since high school. The house is dark when Matt drops him off, but Jenna or Ric left the porch light on for him. He digs his keys out of his pocket and slips into the house quietly, easing out of his shoes and going into the kitchen for a glass of water before heading upstairs and into his room. He digs through his cardboard boxes for his pajamas, but ends up settling on an old t-shirt and a pair of gym shorts.

He's too wired to sleep—he became a bit of an insomniac his freshman year of college and he's never quite managed to get over it—so he finds a sketchbook and a pencil and sits down to draw.

His world shrinks to nothing more than the scratch of his pencil across the paper. He doesn't even really know what he's drawing, like his hand is its own separate entity, acting free of the rest of his body. He doesn't hear the steady dripping of the sink in the bathroom or the rain that starts to patter against the windowpane.

He's not sure how much time has passed when he sets the pencil aside and he's looking down at Damon from earlier that evening: his elbows planted on the bar and a smirk on his face as he leans forward to annoy Jeremy with some snide comment. For some reason, Jeremy's gut reaction is to rip the drawing to shreds. He's not sure why. But it's a surprisingly accurate representation of how unfairly beautiful Damon is and Jeremy has always been a pack rat, unable to throw anything away in case he needs it someday. (Which is exactly how he ended up with a bedroom filled to the ceiling with boxes.)

So he flips his sketchbook closed and tosses it onto one of the boxes, crawling beneath his navy sheets and still wishing he were somewhere else.

Eternity is a long fucking time. Damon's always known it, of course, but he's only just started to feel it. Elena and Stefan are still off on their worldwide adventure and Damon's not interested in third-wheeling, no matter how many times the pair of them insist they don't mind if he tags along. His only friend went from a badass vampire hunter to a domesticated, boring history teacher. Which Damon could probably handle, except for the kids. From far away or in a picture, Ric's kids are okay. Up close, they're sticky, drooly and loud.

And Mystic Falls is boring, now that Elena's presence isn't attracting the attention of every vampire in the tri-state area (and then some) and there aren't any more werewolves around for Damon to provoke. The town is nothing but Founders events and too many teenagers hanging out at the Grill.

And yet the second Elena told him Jeremy was moving back home, he was a plane and back in this shithole town in twenty-four hours. It had only taken one phone call to his only friend to find out when Jeremy's first shift at the Grill was and he'd even managed to ignore Ric's heavy sigh and the accompanying you're still hung up on him?

Because Damon is hung up on Jeremy. He's never been able to explain it and he's never really tried to hide it either, because it's plain as fucking day to everyone. Except Jeremy. He's tried resisting the strange, magnetic pull the other man has over him, but apparently even going as far away as Vietnam isn't enough. And now that they're both back in Mystic Falls…well, Damon doesn't know if he can be held responsible for his actions.

When he steps into the Grill, seeing Jeremy leaning against the bar and laughing with Matt sets off the familiar spark of longing he grew accustomed to when Jeremy was still in high school. But apparently absence does make the heart grow fonder, because he doesn't remember the need to drag Jeremy away ever being quite this strong. He's not remotely bothered about finding somewhere more private anymore. He'd happily fuck Jeremy on the bar in front of the entire town if it meant he could stop feeling like this.

Damon wishes it were just about sex. That would be easy. He wouldn't be remotely surprised if Jeremy's gotten complacent and isn't wearing vervain anymore. Damon could compel him, fuck Jeremy Gilbert out of his system, and leave this town for good this time.

But the idea makes Damon feel ill. Because he doesn't want meaningless sex with questionable consent. He can get that anywhere. With Jeremy, he wants feelings. He wants to spoon as much as he wants to fuck. And that just makes him feel like Stefan, which is unacceptable.

So he sits across the bar from Jeremy and exchanges in his usual sarcastic banter and only slips up a few times. Maturity has made Jeremy more perceptive, and Damon is certain he's going to be caught out. Maybe not tonight, but soon. Because somehow Jeremy looks at him and Damon feels like Jeremy can see all the things he's trying desperately to hide.

And it's terrifying. But at the same time, it's exhilarating because it means that something is going to happen. After feeling like this for six years, Damon wants Jeremy to put him out of his misery, one way or another.

After leaving the Grill, Damon walks home. He could have run and been home in seconds, but he needs the walk to clear his head. He lets himself into the boardinghouse and pours himself another drink. He brings it upstairs with him and sets it on the table beside his bed while he changes from jeans to comfortable sleep pants. He crawls into bed and burrows beneath the fluffy white duvet, propping himself up against the pillows and leaning over for his drink and his book.

It doesn't matter that he's read Gone with the Wind thousands of times by now, probably. It's always going to be his favorite because it takes him directly back to the time when he was human, when he wasn't so lonely and broken and lost.

Damon loses himself in the book that he's all but memorized, forgetting his drink sitting on the bedside table and not noticing the rain outside until the wind is howling, a summer storm building quickly. He sets Gone with the Wind aside and snaps off the light, plunging the room into darkness, falling asleep just before the thunder begins.