action;
[Damon's here? Oh, right. Damon's here. And he was doing such a good job of not remembering he existed. (There might've been some lingering anger about his neck. Or, more specifically, how his life meant nothing more than a temporary distraction.)
Alaric pulls away from Elena, putting space between them (and more space between him and Damon) the smile that had turned his lips flattening out into something much less relieved. Yeah, Damon is an idiot. He gets a near-constant reminder of it. Like his goddamn inability to utter an apology.]
Yeah? Likewise. [Might've meant it more than Damon did. (Key word: might've.) He looks back to Elena, a question in his wrinkled brow. Jeremy's on her mind and on his, too.] It's just you two and Caroline?