If someone were to ask Damon Salvatore why it was that he kept going back to that bookshelf, kept finding Jane Austens Pride and Prejudice, kept thumbing through the pages and managing to scoff at his own opinions, he wouldn't have a clear answer.
It wasn't because he liked Austens prose, nor was it because he found the characters intriguing. The most likely answer for the question at hand was the simple fact that the book reminded him of Rhysand. It reminded him of a time wherein they were so stupidly in love, a time wherein he felt true, unaltered happiness, not burdened or weighed down by anything else.
He had paused before doing it on the fifth night that he found himself in the living room, eyes wandering the bookshelves, full of titles that he or Stefan had read once before. He walked to the small table on which they kept alcohol in the living room, poured himself some bourbon, and walked to the shelves once again, plucking Pride and Prejudice from it's usual spot.
He—albeit carefully—fell onto the couch as he opened the book, reading both Jane Austens words and his own additions for the fifth time in a row. He refused to acknowledge he was doing it for the purpose of reminiscing, but Rhysand, it seemed, knew him well enough to know as much right off the bat.
"Austen?" Rhysand asked. Damon flinched. How hadn't he heard Rhys making his descent down the stairs?
Rhysand scoffed. "What, missing the good days, Salvatore?"
Damon sighed, closing the book as he took a sip of his bourbon. "Endlessly so."
He didn't look at Rhysand, though. Some part of him wanted to, but that part of him was one that he forced down, out of sight and out of mind.
"Well, we're handling our problems well enough, I might say," Rhysand said. Things still felt tense between the two of them sometimes, but it seemed that they'd reached relatively even ground, a spot wherein they both could exist without doing that of resenting one another for their faults. "Or—close to well enough, anyway. How've you been the past few days?"
"I've been okay, and you?"
Damon finally allowed himself to turn, to glimpse Rhysand.
He was wearing a black shirt, grey sweatpants, the chain on which he kept his daylight ring hanging loosely from his neck.
"Better than okay, oddly enough," Rhysand said, shrugging as he spoke. He leaned against the wall of the stairs, gaze meeting Damons as he did.
It was with that look, that one, simple look, that Damon finally realized it.
They would never go back to what they'd been. There was no chance, he'd just spent so long either thinking of Katherine or remaining in denial of that to even come close to accepting it. It'd been ten years. Some vampires who'd loved each other for even half that time could come back after twice as long, but they weren't those couples.
Friends, they may have turned into. Slightly less than acquaintances was what they'd been then, lovers and confidantes was what they'd been once.
Once, Damon knew, but never again. Not after Klaus, not with Klaus and his fear of abandonment taking Rhysand whenever he got close enough. Not with everything going on in Mystic Falls, all the shit that Stefan kept pulling the both of them into. There was no hope, and moving on was likely the best option either of them had.
Damon wouldn't move on, though. It made him cringe, when he thought about it, but loving Rhysand Abernathy? It was not something from which one could move on with the drop of a hat, not something worth forgetting.
"So, old times sake," Rhysand said, pointing out the book in Damons lap as Damon took another sip of the bourbon. "I thought you hated Austen."
"I did—I do, I just like thinking about those days. The ones where you didn't hate me, the ones where the letters you wrote were the things that got me out of bed every morning. I get—I miss us, sometimes, Rhysand." It was difficult not to, when Rhysand was often all that Damon found himself capable of thinking about.
"I miss us too, Damon," Rhysand said. "But you have to understand. It's not the right time. There's too much shit going on, Klaus might be trotting into this town to wreak havoc any fucking day now, and it just—goddamnit! I still hate what happened and even though I hate you less, I still do."
"You're going to let your own emotions get in the way?"
"This from the man who's done so millions of times already!" Rhysand snapped. "I love you, Damon. I do. There's no fucking denying that, but Klaus is always around the next fucking corner. He's always waiting for me to slip up, confirm my location so that he can swoop in and remind me of the deal I agreed to and the fact that it's the only reason I didn't die when I'd drowned. I love you, but it's because of Klaus that I can't let myself. Unless you're willing to wait, there's no perfect time. There never will be."
With the words, Damon watched Rhysand walk back up the stairs, leaving him to his bourbon and the novel in his lap.
He sighed, opened the book, sipped his bourbon and continued reading.
Eventually, when he'd long placed the book on the shelves, when the bourbon had been drank and the glass rinsed, Damon walked up to his room, falling asleep shortly after he'd fallen into bed.
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Forget All, Remember None | slow updates
Fanfiction"No," Rhysand said. "I wouldn't change anything about you. I loved you exactly as you'd been."
