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"Ouch," Enzo says.
It's more commentary than actual pain. Damon still looks up from his book at the scent of blood in the otherwise peaceful kitchen. The humans are all gone today, save Damon's.
Back to him, Enzo stands in front of the stove—because humans need food to function and Enzo likes to make his own. When he's not trying to convince Damon that stopping by every diner in town is a necessary field trip. He's somehow gotten the baby human in on it, despite her having lived in Mystic Falls her whole life and having already eaten at every local establishment.
Sarah keeps trying to tag along when they go places. Sometimes he thinks it's her version of teenage rebellion. Dad doesn't want her hanging around her who-knows-how-many-times vampiric great uncle? Either of them, but especially the one who doesn't do things like go to pep rallies? Forever dauntless, she asks for rides and homework help and generally seems to play the part of an eager duckling. If ducklings carried around vintage cameras and had the habit of smugly texting their little Gilbert friends about how she gets to go do things with the scary vampires.
It reminds him of Stefan, sometimes. Back before... a lot of things. More photography, though. Less crying too.
The book is abandoned onto the table, splayed open and face down in a way Damon would mild to moderatley injure someone for if they'd done it.
Within a second, he's looming behind Enzo, hooking his chin over one shoulder to check out the damage. Obligingly, because he is such a good human, even if he is awfully squishy, Enzo holds up the injury so Damon can better see it.
The tip of his index finger is bloody.
Just a cut. Not even a deep one.
He doesn't step back as Enzo turns around, stays right up in his space.
"Oh no," Enzo says, deadpan. There is a wholly unesscessary hint of a smile. "A papercut."
"Did you win, at least?" Damon asks. He thinks it's the first time he's spoken today, other than a yes when Gail had asked him if he'd seen her scarf.
Enzo glances over at the carrot lying half sliced on the counter. "I had 'em on the ropes."
He catches the injured hand in his own. Brings it up to his lips.
"Breakfast for the both of us," Enzo says, unprotesting as Damon takes the bloodied finger into his mouth. His thumb rests on Damon's bottom lip.
Blood, skin, carrot juice. The sting of vervain. Not the worst combination. He sucks on it only briefly before releasing. Meeting dark eyes, "You're more like dessert."
"There's an idea." There's a swallow when Damon licks his lips, a skip in his heartbeat. "How do you feel about brownies with a nice drizzle of blood?"
"Whose?"
"I was thinking mine, but if you have someone else in mind?"
Damon makes a noncommital noise. He's still holding Enzo's hand. Blood has begun to seep anew, so he bites his own tongue, hard enough for a taste of cold copper. He licks Enzo's finger again, making sure to get his own blood into the cut.
"Sanitary," Enzo says, licking the vampire blood and slobber from off his finger. Once clean, it reveals unbroken skin, as if it had never been cut at all.
If Damon watches his tongue a little too closely, then.... Well, that's no one's business but theirs.