Damon is dragging his feet like an old man – Bonnie would say petulant child – tired, sick, body heavier with feelings he can't really admit without losing everything. His fingers wrap around the doorknob but he doesn't have the strength to turn it. Instead he leans in, his forehead against the wooden surface, closing his eyes in a sort of excited despair. At the wrong move it will blow up in his face. He always goes for the wrong wire to cut. There are people that are gonna fight for the chance to be top of the line when they give tickets to the fine experience of cutting his balls off, but this feeling, this tender ache that spreads out from the middle of his chest, tickling his veins, making the purposely vague recognition of this thing exhilarating in a maddening, I'm-about-to-cry sort of way.

He's always been good at torturing himself, after all.

What could he do to outdo himself once he'd gone and obsessed over his brother's girlfriend? Another wouldn't have been able to think of much, but he's resourceful like that, so he went and found himself wrapped around his best friend's fingers, his zealous best man – of all people – the girl that has been like a sister to his future bride. Well done, Damon.

But now, he just needs a minute of peace. Yes, one minute of peace and the world will shift back into its rightful place, and he'll be thinking of Elena and how much he loves her. He needs to do one of those exercise when you imagine yourself on a beach or on top of a mountain, a safe place to get in touch with yourself and shit.

Breathe in, breath out, he tells himself. Breathe in, breathe out, slowly.

He's almost there, he's almost okay. Damon can almost feel the warmth of Bonnie's cheek against his back as she holds quietly him from behind, slender arms tender about his chest, yet somehow squeezing his heart out.

His eyes grow wide at the realization, and he opens the door forcefully entering his bedroom. There's the lingering smell of her that follows him, like she's been drenching his life drop by drop since the first day he saw her. Funny scared little thing, unaware of her own power, braiding her unspoken desires together with her black hair, always keeping her expectations low and her hopes lower. Even so, to inform her of his childish need to have her look at him like a man – like a viable candidate for a regularly scheduled make-out session from now until one of them is put to sleep six feet under the dirt – it would still be an option incapable of meeting the close-to-the-ground bar.

Damon throws a dirty look through his window as he walks towards the bed, to see the men working in his garden.

He shouldn't be doing this, shouldn't be trying to tear away the presence of another woman from his skin. He should be thinking of Elena, of their life together.

She's off working on her dream job, probably trying to dodge the advances of doctors and patients alike, and that's what he should be worried about. Being worthy of her love, love her more than anyone else could. Love her at least as much as Stefan would.

His brother gave his life so that he could survive, so that he could be with Elena, and now he's writing vows for another woman and dragging her into this mess like she would sign up for any of this if she had the choice.

Turning human has not changed a damn thing about him, because he's the usual egoistical son of a bitch guided by instinct and a fucked up timing. What would Stefan say if he could see him now? What would he think if he could read his thoughts? Probably that he had wasted one good chance to get rid of him and his stupid ass.

Elena has stood by him even when his love dragged her through the mud and made her a shadow of her true self, and he writes vows for another girl. One she loves like a sister. One he should love like a sister, yet somehow it's like he's still stuck on the other side, where she's the only person he sees, where the whole world is made of Bonnie, of her moods and her frowns and the way she bites her lip in concentration when she's trying to decide her next move in a game she's going to lose because his happiness trumps rules.

Maybe forcing her hand to have her stay with him was not a smart move on his part, and yet, he cannot help himself.

He's going to marry Elena because he gave her his word, because he made a promise to his brother, because Caroline would have a fit for all her wasted work. Because Bonnie would hate his guts forever if he broke her friend's heart. Because, what would he gain by not going thought with this? A miserable life of solitude, probably.

Could Bonnie even look at him in the face and not feel like she was betraying her friend just by maintaining any type of relationship with him? Maybe at some point, in a few years, once Elena was past the whole wedding fiasco and she had met a nice man and produced a couple of offspring, Bonnie would be able to talk to him, but would she even be interested at that point? She'd have a good life, probably an exotic job that had her on the other side of the world for half the time, and Damon would be one of those discolored memories you can't connect with feelings anymore. Remember that pathetic guy that dumped my best friend basically at the altar because he had hit his head and thought he had a chance with me? So embarrassing.

Bonnie had been a real pro at not giving a shit about him as she was away working on her best impression of Meryl Streep. Damon doesn't want to know the extent of her independence from him should he accidentally let the information slip that occasionally, sometimes, only now and then, he thinks he's in love with her.

And this is all cold feet, by the way, he tells himself throwing one arm over his eyes as he lays in bed.

There's a vague image popping into his brain – Elena's lovely face looking at him as they sit together at the dinner table, empty plates dirty with traces of blood. In his dream she leans over to let him kiss her lips and he says, "Love you," to Bonnie's face, as he pulls back to look at her. Or was it the other way around?

He can't remember what she told him back, but her eyes were sad and he can't remember their color. Which is why for a very short moment he's almost happy Caroline barges into his room with little more than a "Are you decent?" as she thrusts the door open without bothering to knock.

You must really be desperate, he tells himself as the blonde girl enters his bedroom, crinkling her nose like she's smelling something foul.

"Argh," she grimaces, looking around herself, "what's this stink?" she asks, waving a plastic case she's holding in one hand like it was a fan.

"What remains of my patience, dead and rotting," he deadpans, watching her unimpressed face as she stubbornly proceeds to say, "We can easily remedy that."

"We really don't need to," he replies, but she's already opening the windows, letting him hear the sound of a manual saw coming from the garden.

"That's better," she decides, turning to him with a bright smile like she's just carried out a good deed, "Now we can talk about music."

"I think the last Justin Bieber was very weak," he retorts. "Like, I wouldn't use it for a dog food commercial. Yummy? Yeah, right. I wouldn't renew my fan club membership if I were you."

"Funny," she replies starkly, pressing a button on his stereo to play the cd she's inserted. The music begins as she closes the window so that he can listen quietly while she explains, "I need to know what song you'd prefer for the first dance."

"Why don't you ask Elena?"

"Because this could be a romantic gesture on your part. Think about it. It will be like your personal message to her," she insists, all excited about it, like she's directing a cheesy movie people will watch while they drown their pain in a gigantic carton of ice cream. "Think about it. What do you want to say to her?"

Wrong question, he thinks, grimacing. Because, what is there to say? Does I'm sorry amount for anything when he can't keep a promise he's made too lightly? When she's stuck with him when she could still have Stefan?

He wants to ask Caroline why it is so important for her that Elena gets this fairytale wedding she's planning with such maniacal care, but he fears that in return she'll ask him why he cares so little and that's a road he can't take, not before he's gotten his shit together; so, he just stands from the bed, goes to pull the plug off the wall and walks back.

"Not now, Caroline," and he looks so defeated that all her protests die on her tongue.

#

To fill in for Damon's sick leave Caroline stays around more, uses the boardinghouse like her general headquarters. She's the orchestra leader and everyone will play a tune she likes or there will be consequences. Bonnie found her endearing, in the first hour, but after twelve, there are different words that come to mind to define her, none of them she can say aloud.

She begins suspecting Damon is faking his illness so that he can stay barricaded into his room and away from her. He's saved himself and left her to her fate, the asshole.

Bonnie considers faking a couple of sneezes and doing the same.

"I'd kill myself if I were alive," Enzo comments as she watches her friend walk around with her phone pressed to her ear, barking others from the open windows to the poor guys working outside.

"It's like Bridezilla meets Misery," he adds, looking at Bonnie. "Did you check on Damon to see if she hasn't broken his legs so he couldn't escape from writing his vows?"

Caroline turns on her heels so suddenly that for a moment Bonnie thinks she heard his comment. "Can you believe him?" she asks, outraged, closing the communication on the phone. Bonnie's only reaction is to cautiously move her eyes between Caroline and Enzo and back again, "Yes, Caro?"

"The photographer just called off our contract!" She explains, vexed, blowing a strand of hair fallen on her face, "Oh I'm so sorry, I got run over by a car and broke my arm, ugh," she goes on, grimacing and opening her hands as if to present to the jury the inadequate excuse she's received. "So unprofessional! It took me hours to skim all the offers to find the best one, and he decides to go and have a car run over him?!"

"If that was the only way to avoid her," Enzo says, pointing a thumb over his shoulder, "I'd do it too."

Bonnie presses her lips together in a line to stop herself from chuckling. That would not end well.

"Why does she care this much, anyway?" he asks, genuinely curious and observing Bonnie like she has the answer. Caroline, in the background, is still lamenting the loss of all the many hours she had wasted to select a photographer that couldn't perform the job anymore.

"Because it's Caroline, and she likes perfection," she shrugs, flipping through a few fliers to write down the telephone numbers.

"It's not like it's her wedding," he replies. "I don't remember her fretting like this even when she was the bride-to-be."

Bonnie doesn't either.

"She looks like she's about to have a breakdown, and I'm not going to be here for it," he decides, quite firmly for someone that hasn't had a solid form for a while. "And by the way, he'll like The Boobie Trap," he adds before disappearing, taking with him the soft blue light that engulfed them all.

"Of course he'll like The Boobie Trap," she mutters under her breath, amused by the ridiculous name.

"Aren't I right?" Caroline finally asks, at the end of her endless monologue.

"Totally," Bonnie declares with a solemn expression. She'll swear on her life, sign it with her own blood if she must. Whatever it takes to make her stop. But Caroline begins again.

"Because in such delicate circumstances you can't just break an arm and call it quit! I mean—"

"You know what?" Bonnie asks, standing from her place on the sofa cautiously, like she could alarm her friend with a sudden movement and provoke a reaction that will have one of them seriously injured. "You've been working so hard, and you already have this mess on your hands, so I'll check on Damon, have him man up and dress up so we can go out and continue checking off things from the list, okay?"

"Yeah," Caroline agrees, looking briefly disoriented by the change of plan and scenery.

"You can do this, Caro," Bonnie says as she takes the stairs. "It's a piece of cake for you," she adds encouragingly, making her friend smile.

If Bonnie doesn't leave the house right now, she's going to lose a friend, permanently. She rushes inside Damon's room without even bothering to knock. She walks inside with a determined step, the moment he's coming out of the bathroom, a white towel around his hips, his muscles more defined than usual. Was he working out or something while she tried to contain Hurricane Caroline? Her step slows. She averts her gaze for a moment as she tries to cover her embarrassment with annoyance, "So, you're not dead."

"You sound disappointed," he says, looking at her mouth, curved upside down.

"My enthusiasm about the state of your health is directly proportional to your ability to let me escape from here," she informs him, exasperated. It doesn't take much of a genius to understand that Caroline drove her up the wall.

"Oh, I though Caroline was your best friend…" he teases her with a grin. He hasn't forgotten her joke about it the one time he managed to talk to her when she was still playing the explorer. What?" he asks, "Don't you love to be in her company, for hours and hours and hours?"

"You're an ass," she decides, looking through squinting evil eyes that only make his grin widen.

"I am a great piece of ass."

Between stumbling upon his own feelings, the novelty of a deadly flu, and Caroline The Wedding Planner Extraordinaire, he hasn't been around Bonnie as much as he physically needs, and now he's overwhelmed by the urge to push her buttons, see her infuriated and alight, maybe hit his chest with her fists to that she'll touch his skin and let him feel her in the most seemingly harmless way.

But Bonnie turns on her heels, takes a couple of items from his closet and throws them at him.

"Get changed, now, or I swear I'm sacrificing you to her bloodthirst."

He complies, going inside his private bathroom to dress, calling from behind the closed door to know, "What's the plan? Do I tie the sheets together and we get down from the window?"

"I wouldn't rule it out," she admits under her breath, knowing he can't hear her.

It takes him a couple of minutes, because for how conceited he is, it really doesn't take him much to look good.

"What's the next move, captain?" he asks, as he slips one arm inside the leather jacket, then the other. She walks up to him, stands on tiptoes to wrap a scarf around his neck and the act squeezes his heart in his chest. He stands so still he forgets to breathe. She seems not to notice as she fastens the scarf, eyeing menacingly the ends of his black hair.

"Your hair is still damp. You want to get sick again?" she asks, not waiting for a reply as she brings her hands to the base of his neck. She has to lean slightly against him as she concentrates on pooling her powers on the tips of her fingers, trying to maintain the expression of her strength's soft blow rather than her usual explosive one. She drives her fingers though his hair, and Damon's brain seems to melt and flow down into his southern regions, so much so that if she looked at his eyes she'd find the scared expression of a deer on the highway. He looks away and hopes, for once, that his human body won't be so quick to react to external stimulus.

"You'll get headaches and colds if you act so blasé," Bonnie explains, patiently, her breath hitting his mouth that goes dry. "You're not a vampire anymore, you have to take better care of yourself."

Damon wants to tell her that if she'll care for him like this every time he shows negligence for his health, he'll just try to injure himself on a daily basis.

For a very long moment, every cell of his body seems to sizzle. Arousal is impending and inevitable, and he wonders if this celibate thing he's got going on with Elena hasn't made it worse. He couldn't even jerk off satisfactorily and now he's like a teenager with a teacher fantasy.

When she pulls away his eyes almost roll to the back of his head with relief. Though, there's another kind of relief he would have opted for, given the choice. But Bonnie is still his best friend – his loyal, naïve, totally unaware best friend – and he's still got a fiancée to marry, and if he holds out a little more, things will get resolved on their own.

"Let's go," she says, walking towards the door.

#

Inside the boutique there's only sunlight reflecting on the glass and stones, and one client.

It's a woman, past middle age, smiling to the salesgirl and explaining, "It's a family heirloom. It was my husband's grand-grandfather's, passed from generation to generation, and it has great significance for us, so I beg you to be careful with it," she explains, sliding the antique watch resting on a velvet cloth 'til it arrives at the hands of the girl.

"Of course," the girl replies warmly. "I'll go get the form you need to fill. I fear it'll take at least a month to fix it. It's very antique, so not everyone can work on it."

"Yes, of course, I understand my dear," the woman nods, ready to wait for the girl to return.

Damon looks around to see an older man smiling at him. He's wearing a navy-blue tie that is barely visible above the neck of his cardigan, and his hands are veiny, with long fingers and nails well trimmed. The frame of his glasses are golden and the shape reminds him a little of John Lennon.

"May I be of any help, sir?" he asks very politely as Damon tries to keep his expression neutral. He's walked inside more expensive places, and most of the time he forgets he's only human now, looking at most in his thirties, so he doesn't really feel any type of reverence towards the man, but he's here to pick his wedding bands and maybe that is making him a tiny bit nervous.

Bonnie is behind him peeking through the display cases, eyes widening at the sight of colored gems and jewels of exquisite craftsmanship.

"Do you need to pick something for yourself?" he asks, with a smile. "Or maybe it's a gift for someone special?" the man inquires.

"Yeah, well, something like that…" Damon says, walking closer to the man and placing both palms on the showcase to look down at the rings display, "I need to pick the rings for my wedding."

"Oh, I understand the nervous look then." The man grins benevolently, taking a step behind to open the display case with a key he takes from his pocket. "Do you already have something in mind?"

He actually doesn't. He feels a little like it's a test he's gonna fail. Though, when you're putting down the money you're always right.

Damon peeks at his back, Bonnie is all wide-eyed and he scratches the stubble on his jaw with his fingernails. The man observes follows his gaze and waits for him to pay attention again.

Damon turns around and sighs, undecided. When he thinks about his wedding his mind goes blank. There's a knee jerk reaction that tells him that's someone else's problem. He's going to show up, and that's his part, but it's really not so he tries to think about Elena, about her tastes. He tries to look at the rings with Stefan's eyes, because he always knew what she would love.

"Something elegant," he says, looking down at the many choices he has. "She likes diamonds," he adds as the clerk dons a pair of silk gloves. "I see," the man replies, looking over Damon's shoulder to the girl that's peeking around as she keeps her hands behind her back, like a kid that's been taught not to touch anything to ward off the risk of breaking something valuable.

"Maybe this one would do," Damon says, pointing at one ring so that the man will take it for him.

"This is a yellow 18-karat gold ring with two emerald diamonds set edge-to-edge on a bar channel setting of 4 millimeters," he explains proudly, like it's an aged wine. That would be more Damon's expertise.

"Seems pretty enough," Damon says, though his eyes still scan the rest of the display to see if there would be something more fitting for Elena, "I think she'll like it."

"Maybe we could ask her…" the man suggests, raising his eyebrows to hint at the girl at his back. "It must be a very recent proposal. We have engagement rings on that side of the boutique."

"Oh," Damon says, grinning at the usual misunderstanding. "She's my best friend…" he tries to explain, but the man's smile only seems to widen at his words.

"I love when I hear someone describe their fiancée like that," he confesses, suddenly looking younger than his age. "It's the best feeling in the world, to know that the person you'll be with for the rest of your life is your best friend. So in the moments when passion is not enough to sustain your relationship, you'll know you'll still get through it because they'll understand," he says, eyes far away like he's recalling a memory, or seeing someone. "That's my wife for me," he adds, looking like someone that knows how fortunate he's been.

"So, have you found something?" Bonnie asks, appearing at his side, searching his pale face.

"Your fiancé thought you would like—" the man begins, but Bonnie raises both her hands moving them in front of his to stop his words.

"Oh, I'm not… I'm not his fiancé."

The older woman that came to have her husband's watch fixed is leaving the boutique and Damon's attention fixates on the click of her short heels. He wants to disappear, or be swallowed by the floor, anything to get out of this place.

"Oh," he says, "Oh, I see," he cries out, mortified, as he looks between Bonnie's face and Damon's. His young client looks like someone that's been slapped in the face, and he tries to rush to remedy his thoughtless stream of consciousness. "Of course, of course, how stupid of me," he proclaims. "I'm an old romantic and I always assume wrong. My wife would say that I—"

"You know," Damon interrupts him trying to fake a smile, though he feels like someone is trying to choke him, "I think maybe I should come back with the girl that will have to wear the ring. If I choose wrong, there could be consequences." His eyes go wide like he's trying to convey the message without sounding unkind to his future wife. "You know what I mean?"

"Yes, naturally," the man nods, eager to spare his client the uncomfortable situation he's put him through. "Very wise of you," he adds, for good measure, "That seems like the best course of action."

#

There have been a few bumps in the road. She'll have to recast the photographer, but she's burned her eyes on those albums, so she'll go though it more quickly this time around. She can do it tonight, once she's home and put the twins to bed. She's had to push back her appointment to decide the music because someone had to keep eye on how the work in the garden was proceeding, but now that the workers have gone, she must go and listen to the band she's contacted the day before. And since Damon has decided to grace the land of the living again and went to pick the wedding bands with Bonnie, she's eighty percent sure they'll get something done today, so she sits in the driver seat of her Ford Fiesta, takes the planner from her Prada leather bucket bag and crosses out another thing off her list.

She's finally getting somewhere, she decides, smiling. Elena's wedding will be the most beautiful, memorable event of the season, even more than her own. Caroline would have minded once, not because she didn't want her friend to be happy, but because she felt like she always needed to prove that she was good too, that she was special and deserved as much love as anyone else. But she had gotten out of her shell, she had learned to see herself through Stefan's eyes, and he had loved her so much she had felt her heart burst and her life light up.

Caroline has had the wedding of her dreams, with the prince charming she thought did not exist. She coexists with his absence like a living thing, and yet she cannot talk about pain, because that is not what Stefan has given her.

Yet, in the back of her mind, even as they were exchanging vows, there was a little voice wondering what would happen if Elena suddenly remembered that Stefan was her soul mate. She trusted Stefan with her heart, but she had feared constantly that her own happiness would have broken Elena's. Even now, she's doing everything in her power to let Elena have the perfect wedding, scared to wake up and see her eyes, and realize that she was the lucky one, that she got to marry the man of their dreams, and she had his heart and his ring and his last words of love.

In her way, after everything they've gone through, she's learned to love Damon like a brother, but though she is inclined to see all that's good about him, all Stefan thought worthy of him. She's scared that Elena will look at Damon one day and realize that it's not Stefan. Caroline is scared that Elena will look at her and hate her, because though they've all lost him, Stefan is forever hers.

It's egoist on her part, she knows that. She's doing this for herself as much as she does it for Elena. And what's wrong with it, anyway? She's working restlessly to let her have an unforgettable day while her friend works on her perfect future. Maybe she's getting something out of it, but she's hurting no one.

Caroline inserts the key, starts the car, and the radio turns on, feeding her a romantic song. It's like the universe is aligning, everything is falling into place and she smiles.

She doesn't know exactly where she's supposed to go but she wrote down everything on a piece of paper, so she flips through the planner to find it. It's still pretty crumpled but she smoothes it on her lap to read.

It's the wrong side. The writing's not her own. She turns it to see the address, but curiosity gets the best of her, so she flips it again. Damon was being stupidly private about this, probably embarrassed by his own cheesiness but she wants to peek and see what he's written to her friend. Caroline wants the chance to be excited for her, to be happy for the life awaiting her, and it's only right, because after all, she's the one doing all the heavy lifting here.

The fingers of her left hand bring a strand of hair behind her ear, and she sees Damon's steady handwriting thinking how both his hand and his heart was sure, held strongly on the words, like it's already a promise even before he can see the words on the altar.

"There was only you," he writes, softening her heart with barely four words, "maybe not right from the start, maybe not with that enlightened awareness of every male lead inside a romance novel, but in a way, there was only you, always. I'm not exactly a nit-picker, but I suspect that wanting to make you suffer was my psychotic way of singling you out, of recognizing you, because I didn't think I was good enough to be anything else but your persecutor, and I will always take anything I can get." He was so horrible in the beginning. He treated Caroline like a thing to dispose of, used Elena like a stand-in for his obsession over Katherine, loomed over Bonnie and around her like he was her private impending doom. Later, when he had learned to ignore Caroline and use a little softness with Elena, he had kept on tormenting Bonnie for the pure entertainment of it. "I'll take the morsels of you when it's all you can give, and I'll steal the rest when you aren't watching, when you're still drowsy and you don't know any better." She could cry right now. Why did he throw it away? The idiot! She's going to save it for him, and keep it until he works out the courage to read these words aloud. "I'm not the good guy you deserve, but I'll keep my promises to you, the quixotic ones that make you look at me like I'm crazy, and even the stupidest ones. Because even when you weren't the only person in the world, and I didn't know that your sleep-talking was all that I needed to get me though the night, there was always only you."

It's romantic in a raw, vulnerable, not silly way. Like Damon couldn't possibly say more without bleeding out over his beloved Persian rug.

She's on the verge of crying, and Elena will understand. She will understand the intense, heart-wrenching, earth-shattering feeling that she will be barely able to glimpse at, the moment she'll know that there was always only her.

And it doesn't really matter that Caroline cannot, for the life of her, ever remember Elena talking in her sleep. Maybe it's something that happened later on, when they weren't having pajama parties because there were villains and boyfriends to think about. They used to tease Bonnie so much about it. She did it so often, talking in her sleep and thrashing around. She probably would have appreciated a chance at payback.

It was nice back then. It was simpler, only the three of them and a whole world to conquer. Yeah, maybe she was insecure, but she had her parents and they loved her. Elena had her family, and Bonnie's Gram would bake them cookies and tells them spooky stories during the nights of summer break.

Like she's called her with her mind, Caroline sees Bonnie appear in front of her, walking towards the front door of the Salvatore boardinghouse as it starts drizzling so very lightly. Damon is next to her, brown paper bags in both his arms because he has this delusion that he is a great chef or something. But she wouldn't know. She only gave a bite to a pancake he had made for Bonnie, once.

Bonnie is concentrating on rummaging into her shoulder bag, biting her lower lip in concentration as she looks inside with no results because she's so messy. Caroline is sure Damon is telling her just that, but as he stands, she can't read his lips, and the music in the car covers any other sound (...you don't see the way I look at you when you are not looking at me. I wish that I could tell you every single thought I ever had about you and me). It is a very mundane scene, the one she sees, one that won't end in grand romantic gestures or anything of the sort so she's not curious about it.

But something still twists inside her stomach, because though he's got both his arms occupied Damon manages to still reach out a hand to brush away a lock of hair from her eyes, fingers carefully tucking it behind a ear and going back to touch the contour of it over her forehead, while she, unaware of it, concentrates on her little hunt.

If it was a silent movie, that gesture – precisely that little, subtle, almost insignificant gesture – would tell the whole story. And it would be a story of love.

Caroline watches as Bonnie triumphantly holds the key into her hand in front of his face. Damon makes a show of looking bored at her very small victory and follows her inside the house, leaving Caroline to fend off stupid doubts that try creeping into her perfect plan for a perfect wedding.

This is ridiculous. She's seeing things and she would laugh at herself if it wasn't so embarrassing to even admit she had conjured up the absurd theory that Damon might feel more than he does for his best friend. The guy has pined after Elena for years. He barely waited for her to settle down again into her own life before proposing, and he's accepted any condition, any sacrifice, and every delirious request Caroline has made to organize his wedding (except when it came to Bonnie, because she's his, he said), because he loves her so much. And he's written those beautiful vows for Elena (though they apply to Bonnie, too, if she'd like to split hairs), who is the only person in the world for him (Bonnie once, when they were stuck on the other side and there was no psycho trying to actively kill them, was literally the only one) and working on the perfect wedding for her (more like going along, a spiteful voice inside her brain suggests).

Damon Salvatore is completely, hopelessly, head over heels in love with Elena Gilbert. Caroline knows that.

And yet, when did Elena ever talk in her sleep?

#

Note: here again, in the - now usual - quarantine. Please, leave me a review. It amounts to human contact for me LOL. And if you can and if you want, buy me a ko-fi (you can find the link to my ko-fi page on my profile. The song I used in the last scene is "You don't see me" by Safetyuit.

#iorestoacasa