If it's all been a dream she won't be sad about it, she won't, Bonnie decides though her heart trembles inside her ribcage; but, maybe she can fall asleep again. Maybe she can reach Damon there, have his love for a few minutes more so that her life will be more bearable.

She's lost so much already, torn away so brutally. Can't she just have a few minutes more? Just a few? She prays, shutting her eyes tight, wishing drowsiness could cover her like a blanket gently rolled over her body, but she's more and more awake with every second passing, and she can feel the shifting of the bed as Damon drags himself behind her and props his head up, making his elbow sink into the pillow for support. His hand rests gently on her hip, over the pastel sheet of her bed and she's not sure she can remember how to breathe properly.

He lowers his head to brush his nose along her hairline and she can feel his mouth stretch into a smile against her skin before he hides his face in the crook of her neck to breathe her in. The touch of his eyelash seems to tickle her heart. His arm hooks tightly around her, effectively trapping her between his lean chest and the mattress.

"Good morning, Bon-Bon," Damon mutters against her skin, and this time the ticking makes her squirm and giggle.

She's so embarrassingly happy she bites her lower lip as she answer with her own, almost timid "Good morning."

He moves only to make her roll under him so that he can look into her eyes as she lay on her back. Their bodies fit together so perfectly, making her finally grasp what it was everyone always talked about, about the one person that completes you. She thought it was an embellished line for romance novels, but inside her tiny bed, with Damon looking into her eyes and his now undemanding body relishing in the pleasure of their naked skin pressed together, she learns that it's not. There's a complacent smile on his pink lips and she gives in to the temptation to sink her fingers into his hair and pull it back from his forehead. It's longer compared to the last time they were together.

"Haircuts are too mundane of a thing for you?" she asks, ruffling them tenderly.

Damon's smile falters and they're too close for her to believe it a trick of her mind, but it passes quickly and he smiles at her again, with a sort of melancholy that would make her fall in love with him if she wasn't already.

"Why cut my hair?" he asks, on top of her, "You weren't there to see how handsome I was," he adds before kissing her. The touch of his tongue is brief, the kiss is short, but it feels like a rock hitting the surface of the water, over and over again, producing rings that become waves over her soul.

"I never meant to leave you," she says, pushing aside any hesitancy, letting her hands cup his face. She knows he needs to hear it.

"That's good to hear," he says, softly, "And speaking of that," he starts with a lively tone, a playful smile already on his mouth, "Is Abby going to show up and kick me out of the house naked? Because I'm telling you, your neighbors will love every second of it."

"Don't think so," she says, rolling her eyes at his vanity.

"Wanna try and see?" he asks.

"Not really," she replies, patiently. "I meant to say that my mom is not around anymore."

"She left, again?" his voice take on an irked note, sounding almost shrill. Bonnie expects him to launch a tirade about how unreliable she is, and how she shouldn't have trusted her in the first place, so she tries to soothe his rage immediately.

"I told her to," she rushes to say, "She's not used to live in the same place for long, and I could see it was becoming frustrating for her," she explains. "Things are better between us now. Being together healed a few wounds for the both of us, but there are things we can never get back," she adds, "I accepted that."

"My wise Bonnie," he whispers, taking a peek at her frowning mouth before he looks into her eyes again, "You're too good to be mad at her, but I'm not… I'm childish and petty; so, if you don't mind, I'll stay mad at her for what she did to you."

"She really t–"

But he doesn't want to hear it, so he kisses her; because now, he can shut her up with kisses, so she'll probably never get to say another word again. His fingers pinch her side making her squirm and scream under him. Bonnie laughs, pushing him away and trying to escape him but Damon just grabs her easily by the sides again and drags her back on the bed, spooning her and kissing her shoulder.

She's a bit sore from their lovemaking, and she feels like her coma ended much later then the doctor told her, because now every cell of her body is awake and ready to take on the world. Or stay in their own, the one they can make between the walls of this half empty house that she hopes has enough room to fit his whole ego.

"Damon, I'm hungry," she says, recognizing the first signs of her stomach demanding food.

"That's what I wanted to hear…" he groans happily.

"I'm really hungry," she states, not letting him distract her.

"For my sinful mouth?" he asks dramatically, "Say yes."

"Yeees…" she drags the word, trying to let him down gently. "That too, but mostly for breakfast," she says, patting the back of his hand in a consolatory manner.

He sighs in resignation and lets her slip away from his arms to stand from the bed. Damon bends one arm behind his head, admiring her naked body standing in the violet daylight that seeps through from the thin curtains of her bedroom. Bonnie bends to pick up his t-shirt and it's so large for her petite body that she wears it like a mini-dress, but her clothes are abandoned on the floor of the kitchen and she knows he won't mind. She pulls at the neck of the black shirt, nonchalantly sniffing the fabric to smell it, recognizing the scent of his skin, the milky sandalwood and the black pepper lingering on it – she must cover her silly smile with the fingers that are still grasping the dark cotton.

"You look really good wearing my clothes," he says, relaxed against her pillow, his sex barely covered by the messy sheets.

Bonnie turns her head over her shoulders, looking at him and yet still unable to let the notion sink in without a slight sense panic – that the moment she trusts that it's true she's going to wake up to a broken heart.

"Thank you."

"I mean, if I can't have you constantly naked this is the one look I wouldn't mind you adopting," he decides, grinning up at her before throwing away the sheets and standing from the bed.

Bonnie is not used to this, yet, to the intimacy of him naked – though he was never shy around her before – and so close, but it feels right. It feels like the natural progression of their long, awkward, rated XXX for the extreme sass, relationship. So maybe they should have see this coming, maybe a few years ago, when her heart could hurt at something stupid like him not remembering how she takes her coffee, or maybe when she needed boundaries and space because he was messing with all of them and she couldn't remember why she was not allowed to when everyone was assuming they were a couple, or maybe when he got angry at her for letting Alaric hurt her, or that time he decapitated Kai without a blink and carried her away from destruction. Maybe she should have seen it when she woke up to him sitting with his back against the wall, asleep next to her on her bed, guarding her from sadness and loneliness of an empty world.

Or maybe that first time he wondered if he could raise her chance at surviving her suicidal plan, dancing with her to Pearl Jam and trying hard to look unfazed by her fate.

Damon's hand slips around her sides and he holds her tenderly, bending to kiss her forehead. The height difference between them is larger while she's barefoot and she has to pull her head back to look up, but he doesn't seem to mind that he needs to slouch to reach her mouth and kiss her lips.

He only wears his jeans without bothering with underwear or shoes, and when she goes to retrieve the mail she comes back to find him on the porch waiting for her with two cups of coffee. He hands her one before lowering himself to sit on the first step. Bonnie sits next to him, leaning against his side, legs tucked to the side, pulling at the fabric of the shirt to cover herself as best she can.

She breathes in the smell of hot coffee, blowing on it lightly before taking a tentative sip. It burns the tip of her tongue a little so she just looks at the dark liquid, while wondering aloud, "Why could you never remember how I like my coffee?"

"What?" he asks, surprised, turning his head to look down at her. Bonnie is not looking at him. Her head is resting against his shoulder and every now and against she blows over her coffee.

"I got so mad whenever you got it wrong," she recalls, feeling a little stupid because it stills bothers her to think he cared so little. But love is not in the grand gestures, she learns, but in the little acts of gentleness. Love is in the stocked up candles, in his handwriting adding Greek yogurt to the shopping list though he hates it. It's in the blanket in which she finds herself cocooned in the morning, though she kicked it off during the night.

"Don't I know?" he asks, taking a sip, "You got so angry you'd think I just killed your entire family, when actually I just killed your mom, once," he jokes.

"Idiot," she mutters with no resentment, putting down her coffee next to the abandoned mail. "I mean it. Do I mean so little you can't waste some space in that brain of yours to remember something so stupid as the way I take my coffee?"

Damon can tell it actually hurts her a little, but he's been so insecure himself, so many times, he can't really blame her for the way she feels about something so apparently irrelevant.

"I know exactly how you take your coffee," he says, making her pull away and look up at him.

"You don–"

"I know how you take your coffee," he insists, cutting her denial short. "You go for latte macchiato in the morning, and Americano after lunch," he states easily, so like a good student that learned his lesson long ago, "But it's not how you like it," he adds, surprising her. "You take a latte macchiato because you think it's breakfast appropriate, and you take Americano in the afternoon because you think it will help you to stay concentrated on your books or whatever else you need to do, but you always steel a glance to the bottle of caramel syrup or the whipped cream or the ice cream toppings, so I know that you go for healthy because you think it's the better option when you want something else entirely."

Bonnie wants to contradict him, tell him he's saying things just to cover the fact that he doesn't really know her, but the fact is that it does make sense, and it's true. She didn't realize what she did until he told her. Latte macchiato is boring and Americano is just not her thing.

All this time he knew her better then she knew herself.

"I'm just grateful I've been reminded many times how unhealthy and difficult I am," he says, breaking her thoughts, "because someone like you, that only makes the reasonable choice, wouldn't let me touch you with a stick unless it was what you really wanted."

"You've made some shitty choices, Damon," she agrees, "Bordering on toxic, actually," she adds, "But you're healthy for me." She watches him look both unprepared and amazed at that. "You made me stand up for myself, and even when we'd fight I knew you would look out for me. You've put a damper on my constant anxiety to kill myself for the sake of someone else and when that car hit me, my heart started to beat again because of you," she explains, trying to work around the knot in her throat, trying not to lower her eyes so that he will see this is the whole truth, and nothing else, "Because you said you'd only be so lucky if I could live past the very last cockroach," she admits with glossy eyes.

"I've never been the healthy choice for anyone in my existence, ever." Damon reflects aloud, sounding proud, as he holds up her chin, watching the mouth that made him happy as it smiles timidly. His fingers stretch and the tips brush lightly over her upper lips before leaning in for a kiss. He's careful not to break the contact as he lets the hand that holds his cup of coffee slip through them so that he can encircle her and press her closer against him so that she won't tremble from the chill, but only from their kiss.

Later, he slips inside the shower stall behind her just to help her wash her hair, and when he's done he rests his chin on the top of her head and holds her by the shoulders while the water washes over them both.

They make the bed together and he prepares lunch asking for ingredients with an open hand and the tone of a doctor asking for surgical instruments. He ignores the phone in his back pocket until she tries to pick it with the hands wet from washing the dishes. "I know you have a thing for my ass," he says, turning around and putting the phone out of her reach, "But I feel uncomfortable with your fondling. I mean, where's the romance? The courting? I want to feel special," he protests with a pout that makes her smile.

"Oh, but you are special to me," she plays along, "It's just that you're so hot, babe, how can I keep my hands to myself?"

"I bet you say that to all the girls," he grins, putting down the plate he was drying off to slip one hand behind her neck and pull her towards him for a kiss. She stands on tiptoes, balancing herself against his firm chest.

"Someone is calling you," she reminds him against his mouth at the end of the kiss.

"I know. I've been selected for Mr. Universe. But you know me, I'm so shy," making her laugh. Damon easily picks her up by the waist and turns around to pull her up onto the kitchen counter. He squeezes himself between her legs, enjoying the way they fit together but making no move to take off their clothes or entice her into having sex with him. Oh, he wants her, he wants her really bad, but it's been so long since they talked, since they just joked around, enjoying the simple luxury of breathing the same air and looking into each other's eyes. Fuck, he's becoming a sissy, he thinks, but then Bonnie smiles brilliantly and he really doesn't care that much.

Now he gets why Stefan was so eager to have a picket fence and all that shit.

"I can't wait to have some boring sex with you," he thinks, aloud, making Bonnie blink down and her smile disappear from her face.

"What did you say?" she asks, while he's still smiling blissfully. "So, sex with me is boring?" she tries to stay calm, not react like a crazy, insecure woman, but it's hard when you're the little, fragile human and the man you love has been with a list of insane, adventurous probably sex-crazed women. "I'm so sorry you had to endure that!" She tries to push him away so she can get down from the counter top.

"No, no, Bon, that's not what I meant!" he tries to stop her, fingers intertwined while he tries and block her with his whole body. "Stop, Bon." She really can't get away from him if he stands between her legs unless she wants to end up with them being even closer than they were in the first place.

"So, what did you mean?" she asks, clearly annoyed at how his words can affect her, "Because it didn't really sound like you were happy with… what I can give you."

"Do I look unhappy to you?" he asks with a smile. His eyes are sky-blue and looking at her like she's everything, so she falters. Her tone is tentative when she says, "Not really."

"That must be because I have everything I want," he says, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear, "Which in case it escaped your attention, is you," he adds, "I want to live with you, share the house chores and try to spice up our sex life when in about forty or fifty years the novelty of having me in your bed will start to wear off. Every few years, there will come a period where I make you so crazy that you'll slip into control-mode and you'll start to unconsciously plan our sex life," he nods like he just knows, and kisses her nose to explain, "but I'll welcome you home in the nude and ruin your perfectly sound schedule," he tells her, sounding like he looks forward to it. "I can't wait for that to happen. For habits to kick in and for us to change together," he adds, kissing her mouth while she looks at him incredulous.

"It sounds like you've really given some thought to this," she tries to say while he pulls at her lower lip with his teeth.

"So?" he asks, before cupping her face in his hands, "Don't like my plan?" he asks, not giving her a chance to answer. His mouth kisses hers, and then drives along the curve of her jaw and her down to her neck.

"Yeah, but when…" It's really hard to concentrate when he's doing such nice things with his tongue, and she can barely speak without moaning. "Ah-… when did you…"

Damon seemed to have mercy on her, for he pulls away and looks at her, "When the girl you love-" he stops abruptly, realizing what he's said. It can't be such a big revelation, after last night, he supposes. Bonnie is silent but he knows that she's slightly panicking inside. He can tell from the way her eyes move and search his own. "When the girl you love decides to drop dead and disappear, you kind of find some free time to think about all the things you should have done," he explains, looking at her, grateful that she is alive and well and with him, "Like admitting the truth to yourself, for starters. Like telling her you hate her boyfriend and any other man she lets kiss her because that's something you only should do, that it's hard to be with her and remember all the boundaries and the lines not to cross, so it's only because you're constantly about to slip up that you go away sometimes. That you should have a future together, a long one."

"Is that why you seemed to like Alaric better?" she asks, trying not to frown as she remembers the times she would have liked him to stay but he didn't.

"As you proved firsthand, I do have a weakness for my best friend," he reasons, "but Alaric can't hold a candle to you," he reassures her. "You on the other hand, fell for Enzo. Enzo." he repeats, grimacing in disgust. "He's a conceited jerk that overplays his accent and believes every woman is supposed to fall at his feet."

"I have a type," she admits, making him squeeze his eyes.

"What?"

"Minus the accent," she adds, "I think he reminded me of you."

Damon looks wary, slightly confused, and, "I feel flattered… and insulted," he decides. "That must have been really hard for him to find out," he says, sounding thoughtful. "Did he cry?" he asks, with a sudden 360° switch, "Did you take pictures of it?" he presses, thrilled like a kid that's just received an unexpected present.

Bonnie is astonished at his reaction, "You're so mean" she accuses him, half shocked, half amused.

"Didn't you notice?" he sneers, "I snapped the neck of your first boyfriend, how many times?" he asks, unable to even remember, "You wanna talk about the others?" He shakes his head, rethinking it. "No actually, let's not talk about them. Those I didn't kill, I only spared them because I knew they would die on their own, eventually, soon." He adds, "I only went easy on Enzo because he seemed to make you happy, and I couldn't."

"Because of Elena," she finishes in his place.

"Because of Elena," he confirms, "But now she's happy with Matt." He smiles at the weight that's been lifted away from him and kisses her again. Just like that, the dots seem to connect on their own and she remembers the song playing at the wedding. Elena kept her listening to it on repeat the summer she and Matt shared their first kiss.

"So, all that's left for us to do," he says, against her mouth, "is discover how you really like your coffee."

They go to the nearest place – Front Porch Cafè. It's attached to one of those paint-your-own-pottery places. It has its own bakery and the pastries smell heavenly. Bonnie indulges in some apple turnovers while Damon orders every coffee on the menu to the waitress' dismay.

Between all the different tastes and the different scents she's disgusted halfway through them but he insists that it is vital for her to taste them all. It takes them hours because she pauses for at least ten minutes between each sip of coffee to let the flavor rest on her tongue and speak to Damon about whatever crosses her mind. The owner doesn't seem to mind at all, and one waitress looks their way with an endeared expression.

When he pays, it's a ridiculous sum, of course, but her attention is taken by a piece of glossy paper. The corner of it pops up from a compartment of his leather wallet. They leave with no favorite coffee, though he says they'll try again, and suspicion of an upcoming stomachache.

By the end of the afternoon she's craving something very healthy to take away all that sugar from her mouth, but Damon ends up volunteering for the job, kissing her in the street like any normal couple during a hot summer day.

Mrs. Cosgrove, her neighbor, is gardening when they walk back home and pulls back her head to look up at them from under the visor of her panama hat, noticing their intertwined fingers.

"I see how you managed to resist the Benson boy," she comments with a knowing smile.

"The guy with no sense of self-preservation?" he asks, turning towards Bonnie.

"Hi, Mrs. Cosgrove," she greets the woman without paying attention to him, "This is my…best friend–"

"Slash boyfriend," he corrects her without letting her finish. It's just so strange to call him otherwise, though it's a good kind of strange.

"Damon Salvatore," he adds "In case you didn't hear her scream my name the other night," making the smile on the elderly woman fall off her face.

Bonnie sucks between her teeth, utterly embarrassed, "Damon!" and she turns towards her neighbor. "He just came this morning," she tries to tell her.

"That I did" he adds, playing with the double meaning of the words. And she kicks him in the shin, giving him a threatening look.

"Yeah, I arrived this morning," he says, "I was just joking," he adds. "I get a kick out of embarrassing Bonnie." The literal kind of kick, he'd like to add.

"And human beings in general," Bonnie adds between her teeth while she tries to offer a polite smile.

"Well, mission accomplished," the woman confirms, uncomfortably shifting on her knees and trying to hide her eyes from Damon. Bonnie knows that they'll become the talk of the neighborhood by tomorrow.

"We have to go and prepare dinner," she says, grabbing Damon's hand to drag him along. He's not particularly recalcitrant. "It was nice seeing you, Mrs. Cosgrove."

"You too, dear," the woman answers, keeping her eyes on them as they walk inside the fence and through the front door.

"Was it really necessary?" she asks once they are inside. She can still feel her cheeks warm from the utter embarrassment but Damon just shrugs.

"You know how it is, Bon, when you're in love you want everyone to know," he justifies himself way too candidly, placing a kiss on top of her head and walking to the kitchen, leaving her behind.

"Yeah, well, not in detail," she says, following him.

"Don't be greedy. Joy must be shared," he reprimands her, like a parent telling their child to share their toys. It's really not the same, but he'll play the fool just to get on her nerves, so she calms down immediately and grins.

"You're right," she says, gaining a smile. "I'll go and share the joy with Nathan. Maybe I can even give him some of it," she adds turning around and marching to the door. She can barely feel the gush of wind before she sees him leaning with his back on the door, arms crossed over his lean chest.

"Alright, let's call a truce." He concedes, raising his hands in surrender.

"I don't know if I want to," she says, sounding grave, but then proceeds to lean against his chest, reaching up to link her arms behind his neck.

Damon bends and hooks one arm behind her knees, pulling her up easily. "I have a few arguments that could convince you."

"You think?" she asks, faking ignorance.

"You underestimate my dialectic," he informs her, "You should know I can run my tongue for noble causes."

"Like shocking old women?" she asks, acting like she's unaware of his intentions. It's really hard to do that once he sits her on the table and pulls up the hem of her sundress. The cream fabric with a floral print falls on the pavement of the kitchen, leaving her naked save for a pair of white lace panties and Damon's hands on her breasts while he concentrates his attention on kissing her properly.

He does that like he's searching for all the secrets she can't share yet while his fingers squeeze the soft flesh gently. She almost forgets she's naked on her kitchen table – almost – until his mouth doesn't. It starts driving south along the curve of her neck and shoulder before capturing a nipple between his teeth, trapping it gently before closing his lips to suck.

Bonnie's fingers sink into his black hair while she looks down at him. This is something she has dreamed about against her own will. This is something she has wanted though she believed it would never happen. But Damon is here, and he makes her burn.

His open hand slides over her stomach, and down, down, where she's wet already. His fingers rub her over the fabric and the touch clouds her head with raw desire. She's forced to shut her eyes to keep her thighs from trembling. She's panting and throbbing, and he's teasing her mercilessly.

"Damon," she calls him, "Damon, p-please," she calls louder, and she can feel the stretching of his smile against her skin. The jackass is doing it on purpose.

"I swear," she says, panting, "If you're trying to–" but he pulls aside the fabric of her panties and one finger sinks inside her. She groans in sweet relief and bites her lower lip, letting go of the breath she was holding. Bonnie arches her back when he pushes another finger inside, then another.

"I'm just using my arguments, here," he defends himself with an innocent tone that does not suit him or the things he's doing her. Bonnie has no desire to discuss it right now, nor any lucidity to do so. She just rests her weight on the heels of her hands, throws back her head and enjoys his care. When he stops, it's only to take off her wet panties and suddenly she's laying on her back, arching up at the touch of his tongue traveling along her slit, her legs hooked over his shoulders. It's a sudden, sweet assault –two fingers pushed inside of her, pumping her damp depths and the flicks the tip his tongue against her sensitive, swollen clit making her unable to control the writhing of her body on the hard table. She doesn't want to grab his hair but she can't help herself. She's grinding herself against his capable mouth, urging him to use his tongue more vigorously against her, and his name tumbles from her plump lips like it was trapped deep inside until now. Her mouth is dry and the rest of her is on fire, and when he asks, in his raspy voice, "Are you convinced, Bonnie?" his breath hits her cunt, adding to the pleasure. Bonnie presses the heels of her hands over her eyes, trying not to laugh at the overdose of sensations, ending up only whimpering, unable to hold back the intense pleasure surging through her. His thrusting digits keep on working her as her walls start to clamp down around them. Damon doesn't stop, he keeps on pumping, and licking, and sucking, and caressing every inch of her wet sex. He's voracious and dedicated and his face doesn't move from between her legs until she's coming again.

When her shattered brain seems to start working again he's kissing the inside of her thigh, looking up at her with a smug grin. Oh, hell, maybe it would have been better if he wasn't this good at it.

"Well," he says, cleaning a corner of his mouth with a finger, only to bring the tip to his mouth and suck her essence off of it, "My dinner tasted amazing," he tells her, helping her up and inside her pretty flowery dress. "What do you say I feed you, now?" he asks, turning to head to the stove. But she reaches out and grabs him by his t-shirt, pulling him back, hugging him from behind.

"Later," she murmurs against his back, "I say, later."

He's happy, not about the fact that he's about to have the hot squeezing of her around his aching length – well, not only because of that – but because this is as easy between them as their friendship was. Because she wants him and she is not ashamed of it.

Dinner can wait.

When he starts preparing their food it's past ten and she's under the shower, so it comes as a surprise when he tells her, "Caroline called;" maybe, because they both were glad to forget there is a whole world outside their own little one.

"What did she say?" she asks, brushing her wet hair with her fingers, sitting at the table as he cuts the vegetables.

"Mostly yelled at me for not answering before," he explains with a shrug. "She was scared she would need to come here for the identification of the bodies. She asked when we'll be there. I told her probably tomorrow night. She's going to be a pain to get rid of, I'm telling you," sounding annoyed that he'll have to share her time.

"I don't think I want to," she says, calm and hard.

"You don't want to get rid of her?" he asks, oblivious to the meaning of her words. He turns around, slapping a rag over his shoulder. "I know she's your friend but can she do for you what I can?" he asks with a promising grin.

"No, I meant that I don't want to go back, Damon," she clarifies for him, "I'll stay here".

"What?" he asks, taking off the rag from his shoulder and putting down the knife.

"It's nice, I like it," she just says, shrugging it off like that.

"Am I welcome?" he asks, trying to contain the rage that threatens to bubble up, "Or it was all fun and games but you'd rather give a chance to Roland?"

"Nathan," she corrects him with a smile.

"Whatever," he replies, "I'll read it on his headstone."

"Damon, don't be absurd," she says, standing up from her chair to walk to him and take his face in her hands. He holds one against his cheek, tightly, but only a bit too tight, "I want to be with you."

"Because you love me," he suggests.

"Because I love you… so damn much," she admits, stating it clearly for them both to hear it, "But I–" she can't finish her sentence.

"Okay," he stamps a kiss on her lips and turns around to keep on cooking.

"What?" she asks, dazed, "That's it? Okay?"

"Yeah, of course," he shrugs, "I don't give a fuck about what Caroline wants, or what my brother needs, or if the world is about to end. Until then, I've got my woman to feed and keep happy," but he stops, and turns his head to look at her. "Will you be happy having me be naked all the time? Because I have no clothes so it's either me earning my part, working as art model, or we better go shopping tomorrow."

Damon will do whatever it takes to be with her. The concept is still hard to grasp. Whenever she tries to, it seems to fall away from her like it's made of sand. If she asks him to die for her he'd probably hand her the knife and smile. And maybe even then she would have a hard time believing, because she's never had a thing in her life that was for her alone, never had anyone that wanted to stay.

Enzo was as desperate for someone to love him as she was, and maybe at some point he had fallen for her, but there were places of her heart where there was no space for anybody to stay.

He dries her hair, mostly plays with it. When they go to bed, it's easy to fit inside each other's arms. Damon kisses her lazily and she scratches the skin on his back with short fingernails that do not harm him. And they touch and caress and maybe they'll fall asleep only to wake up in the middle of the night and make love; or maybe they won't, but that's okay, too. They can have their own world, their own way.

In the morning she's cocooned in the warmth of his arms, happy about the simple fact that when she opens her eyes he'll be there, still. Damon kisses her ear, speaks against it softly with his usual edge of cockiness. "I know what you think," he says, "You think that once we leave this bed everything will turn out to be a dream. I'm totally dream-worthy material. The wet kind. But you'll see. I'll show you."

It takes her a long moment to recognize the words, but they come back to her and she can't breathe.

"If you really want to stay here, we can redecorate, or burn the house down and build it again the way you like, better. We can take out a mortgage, make a few debts to feel more normal, buy a minivan. I'm open to any possibility," he says, "But if you think that going back will change anything between us, then let's go back. Because if you don't trust me… if you don't trust yourself, we'll never be happy," he says. "Well," he adds lightly, "I will, because I'll have you and everything else can fuck off. But you won't be happy, and your happiness is my job now. See my point?"

"What about Elena?" she asks hesitantly.

"What about her?" he asks back, feigning ignorance.

"She was your epic love." The words sound so embarrassingly trite and yet insurmountable to her. "You wanted to become a better man for her."

"That's true," he says with a sigh. "I wanted to become a better man but I could never meet the bar. She had to bend her morals for me, lie to her friends for me, but she loved me all the same, even though it dragged her down," he tells her, like a bedtime story. "Change of scene: Enter the Witch. This judgy, annoying little thing that fights with me for the shopping cart and has the audacity to say my pancakes suck. Can you believe it?" he asks, sounding outraged.

"If I try really hard," she replies, "But clearly, something must have been wrong with her," she jokes.

"I agree. So wrong that after I told her every excruciating detail of every single bad thing I ever did in my existence she still thought of me as her best friend. It was liberating. She never asked me to change. Never asked me to become a better man." He explains, pausing only to hold her tighter, "I feel like a better man when I'm with you. What's more epic then that?"

She lets the words sink in and it's liberating.

When he wakes up, hours later, he finds her with a pile of white sheets in her arms.

"What are you doing?" he asks her, rubbing away the sleep from his eyes with one hand.

"If we leave, we need to cover the furniture," she explains, with her smile hidden behind the pile. "You know, because of the dust."

#

It's almost a kidnapping, the way Caroline holds to her and never lets her out of her sight. She's speaks non-stop and smiles a lot and Damon leaves them to their chatting to unpack her things upstairs. When she manages to get a break from her overwhelming happiness, Stefan is almost timid in approaching her.

"Thanks for coming back," he says, like she just did him a huge favor. It sounds a bit odd, until he adds, "I've gotten used to having a brother. I wasn't ready to miss him."

"He left for a couple of days," she replies, surprised by his reaction to such a short absence.

"Not really," he says, shaking his head. "He's been barely there for three months. The best part of him was with you, all the rest… it could hardly vegetate. He was learning to fake it, for my sake, I suppose."

The way he says it, it's so natural, honest, so matter of fact that she feels bad, gets worried in retrospect, because the Damon she knows always kicks and screams. He can never surrender to anything, and her heart breaks a little for him.

She wants to go to him immediately but when she tries she finds him in the sitting room with a glass in his hand and Elena in front of him. Only when her friend spots her and rushes to her does she notice Matt, too. Matt and his boyish smile, and his golden ring.

They can't even speak to each other. There's too many people, too many questions – there's only one thing no one asks, like they've known that for a long time – and when they leave Damon is already upstairs. She'd seen him speak with Elena a few times, but she never fell away from his eyes.

Her clothes are not in her bedroom, and it's easy to guess where they might be. Damon is under the shower when she enters his room. She can hear the sound of the water hitting the tiles and she lays on the bed, on her side. She's had a side of the bed for years. Maybe that should have given her a hint, she thinks with a smile.

His clothes are abandoned on a chair and the wallet falls down from a pocket. She stands to pick it up and put it back but a glossy piece of paper comes out from a compartment and she decides to take a peek. She can't even recognize it. It looks way older than it is because it was carried alone and picked up and stared at so many times the colors on the corners, where Damon fingers held it, are fading.

It's a picture of them in her dorm room bed. She's on her side looking up at him with large eyes, like an adoring kid.

"I need a new one," he says, startling her. She presses a hand over her heart to calm it down, and turns to look at him. He's ruffling his wet hair, walking towards her with a towel dangerously hanging from his lean hips.

"I didn't mean to scare you," he says, kissing her forehead, then her mouth.

"I kind of sneaked in," she says, "I couldn't find my things."

"They're all here," he says, "Your clothes, your books, me."

"Subtle."

"Thanks," he says, before leaning down to kiss her. His skin is wet and his arms leave a humid trace on her clothes.

"So, you want me to share your room?" Bonnie asks tentatively.

"You don't want to?" he asks back, "Wanna keep the thrill and have me sneak into your room in the dark?" he jokes.

"I just… don't wanna rush things. I mean," she says, clearing her voice, "I'm ready for you, if you are ready for me." And it's not even scary anymore.

Damon smiles down at her. His eyes are sky-blue. "You know how long I've been waiting for you?"

I knew I loved you then
But you'd never know
'Cause I played it cool when I was scared of letting go
I knew I needed you
But I never showed
But I wanna stay with you
Until we're grey and old
Just say you won't let go
Just say you won't let go

The end

Note: As my usual, I'm not satisfied with what I wrote, but I did try. This is my little alternative to the finale that TVD will give everyone tonight. I'm probalby not done with bamon just yet, so I'll see you in the reviews of my next story. Hopefully soon. I love you all. Stay strong.

Note 2: The song at the end of this chapter is "Say you won't let go" by James Arthur. As leni18 (you're so great, girl) noticed Nags Head is a real place, as it is the Cafè I mentioned in this last chapter (I like putting real things in my stories, it gives me the feeling of making it a bit more real).

Please, if this story gave you even the tiniest bit of happiness let me know. I'll wait in a corner for your reviews. See you soon.