"I can do whatever I want, Elena." He gave a bit of a scowl and finally pulled away from her--she was too close, he could smell her, hear the beating of her heart, and practically feel the heat radiating off her small body. Damon let her take the bottle with a pout, and then stepped around her, sliding down the wall to sit on the floor, hands on his thighs. Why did Elena have to be such a party crasher? "I am...165 years old. I've been walking halls drunk a long time. I mean...not drunk. And you...," he glanced up at her, waiting for something he should say to pop up in his head, but nothing came so he just dropped his chin again. "I don't know. Do what you want. Just nothing dangerous. I don't know if I can save you in this state."