Forget All, Remember None | slow updates

DAMON SALVATORE

"So, classics," Damon said in the hours later. At quarter to six, Rhysand strolled through the diner, slight grin on his face.

The diner that Damon had found himself in was a typical diner that existed on the outskirts of Mystic Falls. Outdated, checkered flooring, darkly washed blue walls, annoyingly bright white lights in every corner, booths lining the walls, no open bar but drinks on the menu. It felt like he was back in the 50s, but the broader end of that time had been spent in Augustine, so some part of Damon did suppose that such an assumption was one he didn't really have the ability to make.

"Classics, Salvatore," Rhysand said. "Didn't get dinner without me, did you?"

"I wouldn't dare," Damon said as Rhysand slid into the space across from him. Damon passed Rhysand a menu, watching as he flipped through it.

For a moment in time, it almost felt like they were as they'd once been. It was like they were Damon and Rhysand in the eighties, getting a bite to eat as Queen pretty much played on loop through the stereos. It took Damon back for a moment, a single, solitary one that passed quicker than he would've liked.

"The moment Klaus comes, I'm as good as gone," Rhysand said. "Damon, I love this town, I do. If I didn't, I wouldn't keep coming back, but—" Rhysand was terrified of Klaus. Every abandonment further fed into Rhysands own fear, not of abandonment but that he would keep leaving everyone he ever came to love, keep finding reasons to do so.

"I'll watch you go, then," Damon said. "The moment you come back? I'll welcome you with open arms. I'll always do so."

"I thank you for that immensely," Rhysand said. "I admit, though, I do fail to understand your kindness when all I've been is cruel."

"You're not cruel, Rhysand," Damon said. "I know you to be the precise opposite, actually."

"I thank you for your remarks."

"Don't. I'm trying to butter you up to convince you to pay for dinner."

Rhysand laughed, and Damon felt an oh-so familiar prickle in his heart, one that he chose to ignore.

"I have yet to transfer my currency from euros to American dollars, so I'm afraid dinner will have to be on you this time around," Rhysand said. "I'll get you drinks tomorrow, though, provided that the exchange goes without a hitch."

Damon allowed himself a smirk. "Can't wait."

--

Later, Damon found himself scoffing as he ran his hand across the bookshelf, fingers paused on a clothbound edition of Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen. He could feel Elenas gaze as she and Stefan entered the living room, sitting on the couch and not trying to hide the fact that they were watching him.

"I thought Rhysand had this," he said. "How—when was—"

"He left it here last time he was around," Stefan said. "In case you ever wanted to pick it up again."

The clothbound edition of Pride and Prejudice was one they'd read together. Separate copies, both of them annotating. Damon had given Rhysand his copy simply because Damon no longer wanted the book to occupy his mind, and there it was, like it'd never been touched, sitting neatly on the bookshelf amongst all the others, the volumes collected throughout the century.

"You're wondering if he's read it since, aren't you?" Elena asked with a teasing sort of grin.

Yes. "No. I'm wondering why he didn't want to keep it. I'm wondering why he's brought it back here, why it's on the shelves when it's nothing more than a reminder of what could've been, had we not split." 

The guilt weighed him down. It always would. If Damon hadn't snapped, Klaus wouldn't've reacted, wouldn't've asked Damon who between the two of them to hurt and then ignored his choice and allowed Rhysand to take the fall for Damons words. Damon regretted not intervening, not even when he could hear Rhysands screams of pain in the days after. The guilt and the regret created a horrifying amalgamation of deep, painful, almost endless sorrow.

"It holds sentimental value, so it stays," Stefan said. "I happen to like it there. Makes that shelf look complete."

"I resent the fact that you're right about that, brother," Damon agreed. "It stays, but the next time Bonnie comes around, she spells it shut."

Elena laughed. "What, afraid of Stefan and I opening the book and seeing Rhysands name in your handwriting?"

Yes. "No."

"Absolutely," Stefan said. "Rhysand had you so smitten, you totally would've done that."

"It's not—theres—" Damon caught himself, pausing. "Three times, Stefan. I wrote Rhysands name next to a romance quote three times. That's all you need to know about that, and I refuse to be teased for loving Rhysand Abernathy. Not when it's one of the best things I've ever done."

"You're still in love with him."

"I'm not, I haven't been since early 2005, and if you say something like that again, I'll drive a stake through your heart," Damon said. "Any hope you hold onto in the Rhysand and Damon department, let it go. We're not you and Elena, Stef. We can't bounce back after even the most horrendous shit has happened to us. We're healing, getting through things, and in the end, it's very likely that we'll come out as totally different people who're unfit to be together." Damon desperately hoped that such wasn't the case, but it was the truth. I

t was about time that Damon had started telling it, too, after so long spent in denial about how bad things truly were, how terrible they'd gotten since the day that Damon had snapped.

He walked up to his room, got ready for bed, and fell asleep listening to the sound of the rain as a storm progressed outside.