Le notes: Well, I had to post this sooner rather than later. It's post season 4, a future fic, and the lyrics are from Lana Del Rey's 'Young and Beautiful' (also the soundtrack for this). Oh and this story's told in second person.

Summary: "Have we met before?" —-ElenaElijah (memories are like footprints in the sand).

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. _ .

dimenticato
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. _ .

will you still love me,
when i've got nothing but my aching soul?
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/ / /

This is you;

You are a thousand plus years old; a man, a monster, or a perfect balance of both. You are a son of long-gone parents, a brother of runaway siblings, and a lover of heart-broken women. A big-hearted machine; constantly calculating your choices and looking out for the best interest of a community as a whole rather than just yourself. You may think yourself quite high and mighty; an original king, the first born, a ruler, a family man, caring, trustworthy, honorable. You have forgiven sin after sin, betrayal after betrayal. All for the sake of Forever and Always. All for the sake of siblings who left you behind to chase after love.

You, my friend, are a fool.

Niklaus was the first person to get you to realize this crucial flaw in your personality. He laughs like a hyena and his eyes glint like the devil's when he sees you with Katherina. His mockery only continues when you show kindness towards the Gilbert girl. Now, if this were just about the women who wear the face of both you and your brother's first love, things would be all too easy. Then you'd know who to blame, what to do, and who to avoid. However, as it turns out, you are this wheel of regret. Of wishes and hopes and dreams that Niklaus can be better and do better. As it turns out, you are not wrong. Only flaw? You are not the one to change his ways.

Rebekah was honest, through and through, wanting humanity so desperately that she became enamored with the Donovan boy. You shouldn't be so worrisome or this protective of her. And yet, she's your only sister and, more than anything, you're the only person she'll ever listen to. As always, you hate to see her cry. But she's just so impossible that you can't help but lash out at her. Because her affair with Alexander almost got you killed, Stefan was a phase, and Damon was even stupider phase. And Matt could possibly be the stupidest phase that she could ever go through. Though, she tells you that she's used to having unhappy endings; she doesn't quite mind the grief.

Katherina was your downfall, in some ways, you find yourself sympathizing with Rebekah. Yet, because of family, integrity, redemption, and all the other admirable things you came to stand for, you picked Niklaus and let Katherina turn mortal and pass on without your knowledge.

It's years later that you find out who is to blame. Elena had been out of the picture for a long time now. After what happened to Katherina, you decided to keep your distance from her doppelganger as well. Call it blame, hate, or everything in between however, no matter what she did, you find that you could never really hate Elena Gilbert.

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/ / /

This is her;

A century old, a girl, a monster, or a perfect balance of both. She is sitting on the hot sand with the bright sun reflecting off her daylight ring. Big black sunglasses cover her doe-brown eyes, her hair has grown back to its natural length, and that distracting red streak she used to have (that you once found incredibly attractive on her) is irreversibly gone. The look on her face is as always, frozen in time, young and beautiful. You find that you're not as strong as you think you are. Quite possibly, you don't think you're so strong to begin with. However, when you've lived this long, running in to familiar faces is inevitable.

This is what you know about her;

She is just as foolish as your sister. Matt, both Salvatores, humanity, monstrosity, life, death, rebirth and still nothing. A girl who loves blindly, with all her heart. She's died for everything and nothing. She's never failed to be able to smile again afterwards. You know that she's a mess. You know that she's always been haunted by blood, and tears, and death. You know that she never asked for forever.

And a hundred years of living hasn't changed that statement. Your opinion of her is the same. She is honest, good-hearted, a survivor at best. It'd be incredible to think that you'd finally run away, to choose the easy-way-out, like your siblings did. After all, what are Mikaelsons best known for besides their dysfunctional ties, epic loves, and tendency to be huge cowards?

You shake your head at the last statement, you are not a coward. Step by step, one foot after the other, it feels as if you're learning to walk for the first time. You hear an incessant voice in the back of your head; don't be surprised, don't mess this up, don't say the wrong thing, don't fuck this up, don't be surprised.

"Elena," you speak first.

She turns, with the look of youth, an inviting smile gone from her lips. She is raising her brow at you, with nothing but puzzlement in her face. She takes her sunglasses off to get a better look at you. "I'm sorry," she says, you wonder what is coming next. "Have we met before?"

Eyes widening, mouth waiting to drip open. You think, that maybe, she's just pulling your leg. Though, she was never a court jester, always a queen.

You are surprised, even though you should not be.

"Yes," you blurt out, uncontrolled and lost. Shit, you're messing this up, shitshitshit, you're messing this up big time. However, what else is there to say? "Yes we have," you repeat, unaware of the consequences behind your actions.

You stun yourself; you're usually a creature of much more thought. Acting on impulse is something your younger brother is known for. Regardless of this matter, she's gotten you trapped. She looks to the sand in between her toes.

Then, she looks back at you.

"Are you sure?"

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/ / /

It's been too long since you've last seen the face of a Petrova. It has the oddest of effects. The last one turned human and passed on, without your knowledge. You find yourself regretting it; it's only one of the reasons why you've been running, for over a century now. You should be angry.

She is at fault for making Katherina mortal and dead.

She is the one who forced the cure down her throat.

She is the one who wears her face.

After all those endless years of trying to run from your past, you only find out that you will be forever haunted by it. Her smile is like a light you've long forgotten. You feel the palpitations of your dead heart; an organ you haven't had much use for recently. Somehow, she's breathing life in to you without even laying a finger on you. You're on your third meeting with her. She studies the rich looking dinner that you so generously paid for.

"I apologize again," she tells you, and you wish it would hurt less coming from a girl who should now be a stranger to you. "I should have remembered you…I presume we must have been close, since you're paying and all."

You find that she is quite different, and yet, still the same. "You don't mind?" Normally, you don't know, but she strikes you as the kind of person who would.

The nostalgia behind her laughter makes it hard for you to breathe. In fact, she almost manages to knock the breath right out of your lungs. "I'm broke right now," she admits, much to your dismay. "I just came for a walk on the beach. I'm afraid I didn't bring my wallet with me. I hadn't expected dinner; you just mentioned that you wanted to talk." You find that she has a good memory.

Regardless, it should be better. You think that there is something important that has been stolen from her. And yet, it is not your place to give this important thing back to her. "You said you had…an accident?" Hopeless beyond repair, unable to find a way to make the conversation flow smoothly enough, you find yourself lost in her eyes.

You're too aware; someone has granted her artificial memories. "Yes," she says to you, looking like she actually believes it all. "A few years ago, my car crashed. I suffered from a bit of memory loss. I suppose I met you a bit before. The doctor said that some things might never come back to me." She looks sad, torn, and broken.

You know this look on her face all too well. It's all too familiar. She's been broken all her life. Could you really be responsible to be the one to break her once again? Could you handle that? Well, could you?

She sighs.

You decide that you hate the look of sadness in her eyes.

"So, Elijah, was it?" Her doe-eyes, and soft skin catch you and you lose your train of thought. It's been far too long since you've heard your name coming from her voice. "Tell me, we're we friends?"

Unmistakably, you nod your head.

"Just friends?" Again, she surprises you. However, before you start to delude yourself, you find that she is just making sure. After all, anything was possible, you and her, could have happened. What would you be thinking if you were in her shoes?

If, all of a sudden, someone came to you, claiming to know you and bought you a sort of romantic dinner?

You don't take advantage of it, you nod instead. "Yes," you repeat. "Just friends."

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/ / /

You are a person of honor. You let her believe what she wants. It's for the best, something extremely terrible must have happened for any of this ever be possible. Still, you've never stopped calculating and re-calculating this matter. You're aware of the fact that only two other people could be responsible for such an act.

Though, as she smiles at you, you decide to refrain yourself from contacting either Rebekah or Niklaus.

After all, it's been almost a century since you last spoke to either of them. So why begin now?

"You should tell me," she talks to you almost every day. You'd think she would stop contacting some man who could quite possibly be a stranger to her. Still, you understand one thing; she is intrigued about the part of her which she does not know about.

You are her only key to opening the doors that are closing her memories of no one other than yourself.

You feel her hand shaking your arm so you'll focus your attention back on her. She's unaware that she could never lose you, even if she tried her hardest. "Tell me what we were like? The things we talked about? How we met? Perhaps it might jog something."

As always, she is ever hopeful.

And you, are forever a fool.

After what feels like a century of being a coward, of being alone, and being sad, you manage to laugh. Ironically, she is the reason behind your bliss. "Why are you so insistent?"

She pouts and looks to the sand again. And then, her eyes shift to the footprints you both left far behind. The tide comes in to wash them away.

She sighs. "You act as though I was important to you. It makes me feel a certain amount of guilt."

Once again, you find that she has too good of a memory for it to be erased at all. She should know you, she should know everything. She deserves to know it. You owe it to her; you feel that, for some odd reason.

You look in to her eyes. You pat her head.

"Your memory will come back to you in due time." You tell her instead.

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/ / /

Her:

She learns not to bother you too much about it. She learns that you are a monster, just like her. She learns that you were friends with her. That you like to write on your spare time, just like she does. That you wear suits way too often. Armani is your favorite brand. She learns that you have a sarcastic sense of humor. That you don't laugh at your own jokes. That you know a lot about the world around you. That you are a cultured man. That you like your eggs sunny-side up. That you sip noisily when you drink your English tea. That you like your biscuits on the side.

You:

You learn that she hates mathematics. Not just because she's extremely horrible with numbers; mostly because math is everywhere. And she hates being haunted by things like that. Though she still wishes she'd gotten better grades in high school. You learn that she loves to bake, even though human food is not an essential for her. She makes your eggs sunny-side up. Her cakes always end up tasting way too sugary sweet for anyone's liking. You learn that she has the worst taste in music. That she counts the stars when she can't get herself to fall asleep. That she likes to take long walks on the beach.

She used to take them alone.

You walk by her side, letting your hand brush against hers.

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/ / /

The guilt starts to get to you.

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/ / /

You meet Damon once.

And only once.

"Rebekah compelled her."

You feel like a tragic hero, an idiot, some roach that just crawled out of the underneath of a man's shoe. Of course it wasn't Niklaus, your own sister has been lying to you. Or rather, you're uncertain if you can even call it dishonesty. Evidently, you are the one who hasn't spoken to her in about a century. And, it's not like she ever thought that you'd want anything to do with Elena Gilbert after all that's happened.

"What else could we do? Bonnie died, Jeremy is dead, again, Matt died…we had no choice!"

You feel your insides eating at your organs. The questions come to you too quick and all at once. It's like termites crawling on your skin. Your eyes on fire. The guilt tearing you apart, and then the face of this man, her lover and everything he sacrificed for her. For a brief moment, you forget her, you realize how wrong you are. She is not yours for the taking.

Regardless, "you lot seem to be coping quite well."

The Salvatore boy puts on a façade. He has always worn a mask behind those icy-blue eyes of his. His smile is weak, and even a child can see the artificiality in it. Nonetheless, he is unselfish underneath the mask of the anti-hero. Still, he has the blonde vampire, the wolf boy, and even Rebekah on his mind. You're sure that they see one another more often than they should. "We've been vampires longer; we have a lot of experience with death."

His words, they strike something in you. Agreement is one thing however, he may not be wrong. He granted the girl a life of normality, the kind she had always desired. You remember her lost parents, her dead aunt, John and Isobel, and Jeremy, and then Jeremy again. You wonder, why can't they see what you do?

Still, it is not your place to speak. You don't tell her like you had planned.

You run instead.

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/ / /

This is you;

Alone, cold, twisted, spun fast. Second chances, broken glances, and weak smiles; you grant them to everybody even if they never deserved it. The city lights hung high, framing your body with its unfamiliar glow. An alarming question; what do I do? What do I do? Two voices inside your head; tell her, tell her and you'd be a fool to say anything right now.

This is her;

Alone, cold, lying beside you with the traffic light shining red instead of green. She used to have two options; stay or go. She hates this decision even though she's never had to make it before. Or at least, she doesn't remember making any such decisions ever in her life. Still, she picks one. She picks one, right now. Hopefully, she picks the right one. She finds you because you're stupid, you didn't call her or text her and she didn't do it either. But you gave her your address, and then she figured out that it was the wrong one. She tracked you down. And she walked in to your life without knocking on your door.

Just like the last time.

She looks to you, reading you like an open book, like you know everything from her life, yet you're tearing out the pages as times passes by you. You don't expect her patience to be your answer. It feels like salvation.

"You'll tell me when I'm ready, won't you?" Don't be surprised, don't mess this up, don't say the wrong thing.

"Yes," shitshitshit, did you mess up?

Bared pearly white teeth, wild eyes, nostalgic smile…she has eternity a head of her to be able to figure things out. Her fingers fill the spaces in between your own. "It will hurt," you feel the need to warn her.

She nods. "I know," her fingers stiffen. "But I think that, I'll be okay."

You can't help but be in disbelief.

She smiles at you instead. "After all, I'll always have you."

You look to her, furrowing your brows. "What makes you say so?"

She rolls her eyes, "I found you, didn't I?"

And you wonder what that says about the first time that you were able to find her.

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/ / /

This is you.

And this is her.

—you are finally home.

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/ / /

End.

/ / /

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Le more notes: The title's in Italian, for all you curious people. If you've read this far, don't be shy, leave me a review! And lurkers…you know yourselves, stop it, say something, I promise I don't bite.

—Xoxo Carter