1976 — Provincetown, Massachusetts
Christmas wasn't something Damon Salvatore celebrated. The last he actually celebrated Christmas was in 1863 in Mystic Falls, when he was human, when he was so ignorant about everything supernatural in the world. He remembered it clearly, even if it was 113 years ago. There was a big Colorado Blue Spruce in the centre of the parlour, decorated in silver ornaments by him, his brother, and a Forbes girl that had quite the crush on Stefan. Their father stayed away, in his study with a bottle of cognac that was given to him as a gift from a man that came back from California. Even though, that didn't bother the atmosphere in the parlour. Other people came by, they brought food and gifts and celebrated the merry holiday. It was cold outside, snow sticking to the ground, but even then there was still merriment and warmth in the parlour of the Veritas Estate, where the inseparable Salvatore brothers celebrated their last Christmas together.
Ever since then he detested Christmas. But, now, he didn't mind it that much. Damon Salvatore sat in the living room of the Beauchene household with glitter and glue all over his hands. Ioanna had made him sit down and make a homemade ornament because everyone else had one homemade ornament in tree. Since he was part of the family, he needed to make one—Ioanna had insisted. Somehow, while trying to glue some things together, he had somehow ended up with glue all over him.
"I can't do it!" The vampire snapped, pushing the items away from him. "Can I just help you guys cook?"
"You have to do one," Ioanna said, giving him a smile. "It's easy, Damon."
"You can tell that to my jeans," he mumbled, glancing down at the large splatter of glue and glitter on his thigh.
"That's easy to get out," Ioanna said with a wave of her hand. "Don't worry, just get to it."
Arthur Bergfalk laughed as he came in. "Each one of us have one on the tree, Damon," he said. "It's your turn to make one. Freya and Frederick have had one since they were eight."
"Yeah, well, I'm not eight," Damon tried to defend himself.
"Which is why it should be much more easier to make that," Helena grinned, tapping the vampire on the shoulder.
Rohan Beauchene took a seat in front of him on the table, eyeing him carefully. She pushed a piece of paper to him, leaned back on the chair, and smiled innocently. Damon eyed her, then the paper, and then back up at her. Slowly, he reached the paper and opened it.
I know you proposed to Freya.
Damon sighed and crunched the paper up into a ball. "And?"
"You haven't told mom and dad, right?" she quietly asked, glancing around to make sure no one was hearing.
"Not yet," he told her. "Freya wanted to tell them during the dinner."
Rohan nodded. "Do it again," she said. "Damon, propose to her again. In front of everyone."
Damon took a sip of the beer and raised a brow at her. When he put down the bottle, he cleared his throat. "Why?"
"This family needs a little cheer," she told him with a sigh. "After what happened at your apartment, everyone has been on the edge. Especially Mom; she can't believe that someone would do something like that."
"No one can," he hummed, quickly glancing at the window. It was snowing outside, cold, just like him. Being him, he didn't mind the cold. Matter of fact, he preferred the cold to any other temperature, which would explain why was winter his favourite season.
"Do the police have any leads?"
"No," he answered with a sigh. "They called this morning, though. They said that the blood they found was from blood bags stolen from the hospital a couple nights ago. Apparently, some sick fuck wanted to scare us."
Rohan sucked in a breath between her teeth and shook her head. "People in this world are screwed in the head, man," she said. "That's why you should propose again. Give us a little happiness. I think Freya would enjoy it a lot, since you proposed in a diner at four in the morning."
Damon pointed at her with the hand that held the beer bottle. "I'll have you know that it was very romantic."
"I bet," she hummed, giving him a sarcastic smile. "Anyway, I'll help you make this an unforgettable proposal, how about that?"
"How did Thomas propose?" he questioned, growing curious about the detective.
Rohan's eyes travelled behind him as a small smile formed around her lips. "He did a scavenger hunt," she said. "He began at our house with a letter and a rose on the bathroom sink, and ended in the park with two bouquets of roses, a letter, and him kneeling in front of me with a beautiful diamond ring."
"Romantic," Damon noted. For a moment, he felt bad for not giving Freya the romantic proposal she deserved. But, he thought that theirs was meaningful, filled with something they would never forget. For him, at least, he knew that he could never forget the moment he proposed to a human without thinking of the consequences.
The consequences. How come he had never truly thought of that? It could have been because he was too in love, to blind with the happiness he was sedated in to think about what could happen, what would happen. If he married her, he'd have to tell her that he was a vampire. If he'd marry her, he might lose her as well because she was human, and humans were mortals, and mortals were so fragile, and fragile meant that they were holdings hands with Death.
Damon cleared his throat and straightened himself. "What do you want me to do?"
Rohan shrugged her shoulders. "You tell me," she said. "You're the one proposing."
"Fine," he sighed. He glanced around the room, wondering, until his eyes fell on the board games that were stacked in the back of a shelf. A small smirk appeared on his lips as he turned to look at Rohan. "Want to play Scrabble?"
All through the morning, Damon and Rohan planned a new proposal. It was mostly Rohan telling him what to do, telling him that whatever idea he told her was stupid and horrendous and in no way romantic. He would roll his eyes, but nod and do whatever she said. But, with each movement he made, each comment that passed his mouth, he would feel that pit in his stomach twist in the most excruciating way possible. He would swallow hard, and think that the best way for the pain to stop was to leave, make the Beauchene's forget that he had ever existed, but he didn't want to. No, Damon Salvatore wanted to be selfish, just for a little while longer.
The pair went outside in the deep snow, both of them whining about the cold. Damon feigned the whining, since it didn't really bother him. Rohan, on the other hand, covered herself up with more clothes than he had brought and whined with each step that she took. The pair went into the woods by the house to decorate. Damon brought with him a very long extension cord, a few boxes of string lights, and whatever else Rohan wanted him to bring out. It was her that told him what to do, her who arranged everything.
In the afternoon, right at five, Ioanna called everyone to the barn where they had their Thanksgiving dinner. The barn was decorated with Christmas: a big tree decorated with red and gold in the corner, garlands hanging down the roof with a few ornaments and stockings with everyone's name, white string lights in every corner. One thing that surprised the vampire the most was how warm in felt in that barn. There was no fire, nothing that could really bring them warmth. The other excuse he came up with was the warmth of the lights.
Just like in Thanksgiving, there were four large tables pushed together with food and decorations all on top. There was even a small dancing Santa right in the centre, with small homemade Christmas trees between every plate of food. To his liking, the food decorated the centre: two big hams in each corner, caramel apple pork chops, garlic roasted mashed potatoes, a sweet homemade cranberry sauce that Uncle Reggie made, butternut squash with onions and honey, Brussels sprouts in some bacon creamy sauce that Damon weirdly enjoyed, corn bread casserole with bits of jalapeño and bacon, broccoli cheese soup, and a few other things that were served on his plate without him noticing. He ate them anyway, just so they wouldn't think that he was rude.
For dessert, all of the Beauchene family had gone all out: iced pumpkin cookies, peppermint brittle, eggnog cheesecake, Great Aunt Madeline's famous zucchini bread flavoured with walnuts and cinnamon, big soft gingerbread cookies, three big pecan pies, raspberry and almond shortbread cookies, rum cake, Grandmother Ellen's pumpkin roll, and white chocolate and raspberry cookies that Damon favoured the most. He even asked for Ioanna to give him a box full of the white chocolate and raspberry cookies when they left, just because he wouldn't mind having them with him.
All while they ate, Damon eyed Freya. When they were with her family, she would normally be smiling and laughing and with happiness surging through every inch of her. At that moment, Freya didn't look happy. She didn't even eat, which made him realise that there was something wrong. No, he knew there was something wrong ever since the night of the accident in their apartment. If he were to be honest, he didn't know what to do, what to say to make her feel better. He hoped, he prayed, that the proposal Rohan made him conjure at the last minute.
Damon leaned over to her. "You okay?"
Freya jumped form the sudden voice and looked over at him with wide eyes. She cleared her throat and nodded. "Y-yeah, I'm fine."
"You sure?"
"Damon, I'm fine," she snapped.
The vampire leaned back on his chair and watched her with curious eyes. He noted that she was paranoid, jumped at every sound, and darted her eyes whenever someone said her name. Each time she jumped, each time she looked scared, he blamed himself. It was him that caused her to feel like that, and he thought that it would be best to make her forget about him. He wanted to make Freya forget that she was ever met him, that she ever fell in love with him, that she ever said yes to marrying him at Rosy's Diner. At that moment, he wanted nothing more but to stand up from where he stood, and compel everyone to forget about his existence, even if it hurt him. His pain didn't matter, what mattered most to him was Freya.
Arthur suddenly stood from his chair, making the room go quiet. He cleared his throat, grabbed the glass of champagne, and smiled at each and every person. "I want to thank everyone for coming today," he said. "This year, it's our turn to also host Christmas. Next year, I can guarantee you that we will make Reggie take it."
"Fine by me," Reggie mumbled, taking a sip of his drink.
"Not by me," Bran muttered. "The last time he tried to cook, he almost burned the house down."
Reggie lifted his finger in the air. "In my defence, I didn't know how to cook a turkey."
"That's why you read the recipes, Reggie," Jasen laughed, shaking his head. "They're in all magazines at this time of the year, man."
Dobri Petrov shushed the men loudly. "Let Arthur finish!"
Arthur eyed the three men for a couple of seconds, then went back to looking at the rest of the table. "Like I was saying," he continued, "it's another Christmas with the Beauchene's and Bergfalk's. It's been a long, long year filled with so many blessings." He glanced down at Ioanna with a face full of love. "My little girl, Rohan, is getting married to a wonderful man." He looked over at Thomas. "She is joining a new family, just like a new family is joining ours. Thomas, a lot of the people in this town have said rude things about you because of the colour of your skin. It doesn't matter to us, son, because you are human and just as important. I am very happy to be calling you my son-in-law."
Thomas smiled at him and raised his glass as Rohan leaned into his arm. "Thank you, sir."
"Like I've told you many times," Arthur said, "there is no need to call me sir." He turned back to the rest of the table. "Damon Salvatore, who won the Beauchene trophy this Thanksgiving, is also part of our family. Out of all the boyfriends Freya has had, I like him the most."
Everyone laughed, a soft melodic sound that moved around the air like warmth. Arthur continued with his speech, thanking everyone personally, giving the news for the upcoming year, then inviting everyone to stay for New Years. Everyone agreed, all with smiled and cheers and nothing to miss the dreary atmosphere that circulated around Freya. Just for a while, though, there was a smile on her face, and that was when Arthur was finishing his speech.
"It came without ribbons," he began. "It came without tags. It came without packages, boxes, or bags. And he puzzled and puzzled 'till his puzzler was sore. Then the Grinch thought of something he hadn't before. What if Christmas, he thought, doesn't come from a store. What if Christmas, perhaps, means a little more."
"How The Grinch Stole Christmas," said Freya softly. "Always quotes him at the end of his Christmas speech."
"Why?" Damon asked her, leaning his chin on his hand.
Freya turned to look at him, the same small smile around her lips. "It was the book his father gave him before he died," she said. "It was a gift. He still has it, with an inscription from his father on the front page."
Damon looked at her, drank her in. Even though she looked sick and tired, she still looked beautiful to him. At that moment, he decided to continue and be selfish. He decided to stay by Freya, protect her, just because he wanted to continue to drink her in every moment he got. Bit by bit. Smile by smile. Kiss by kiss.
"What are you starring at?" Freya asked, the same small smile as when she listened to her father quote Dr. Seuss.
Damon's lip quirked upwards. "You," he simply said.
"Me?"
"You sound surprised that I'm actually looking at you," he mused.
"I am," she said. She crossed her legs and laid her elbow on her thigh. "I'm still wondering, though. Why do you love me?"
Damon scratched under his chin and pursed his lips. With a soft smirk, he turned to her. "I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where," he began. "I love you simply, without problems or pride: I love you like this because I don't know any other way to love."
Freya let out a scoff and rolled her eyes. "And where did you get that from?"
"My heart," he nonchalantly said with a shit-eating grin. "Okay, fine. I got it from a book I read, by a Chilean writer."
"And here I was thinking you were romantic," she mused, making a face.
"I can be the most romantic person in the world when I want," he said as he grabbed her hand, "when I want to show you how much I love you."
"Hmm," she hummed, "now that is a bit romantic."
"Come on," he almost pleaded, "give me a bit of credit here."
"I should be giving credit to the man who wrote the poem," she said with an amused smile. "Not you."
Damon looked over at Rohan, and nodded. At that moment, everyone stood up and walked outside, glasses filled with alcohol in their hands. The vampire looked down at Freya and smiled, grabbed her other hand, and pulled her up. "Then, how about giving me credit for this?"
He pulled her arm under his and walked out of the barn, following everyone else. The crisp, white snow decorated the ground, just like it had done ever since they arrived from New York. It appeared as if somebody had laid a sparkling white sheet over what was once summer and put it to bed. The winter wind howled gently and bit at their skin. Short days, long nights, just like the vampire liked it.
The naked trees were decorated with snow and white string lights Rohan and Damon had found around the house. The lights gave a sense of warmth in the cruel snow, making everyone around them smile in wonder and coo in amazement. Damon looked down at Freya, and smiled. How could she look so beautiful under the snow and with string lights? How could she look so beautiful by just gazing at the trees in front of her? He wondered, how in the damn hell could he have gotten so lucky to have met her, to have fallen in love with her.
With a soft smile, Damon pulled out the homemade ornament he made with the force of Ioanna Beauchene, and held it in front of Freya. When he asked Rohan to play Scrabble, he decided to take seven squares and glue them together. Five on top, two on the bottom.
MARRY
ME
Damon got down on one knee, held the velvet box open, and stared into the watercolour green eyes of Freya Beauchene. He had practised how would he ask her throughout the day. Over and over again in his mind, in front of the mirror when he feigned that he needed to go to the bathroom, when he looked at her. So, he smiled at her, and asked, "Freya Beauchene, will you marry me?"
Freya stared down at him as she hugged herself from the cold. There were tears in the corner of her eyes, and the vampire didn't know if it was because of him or because of something else. She wiped those tears fast, stared down at Damon again until a grin began to form around her lips. A laugh escaped her lips, a magical laugh that swam around Damon and swallowed him whole in whatever spell Freya had laid on him.
"Yes," she quietly said as she nodded. "Yes!"
Without thinking of anyone else but them, he pushed himself up and hugged her as tight as he could. He brought his lips to hers and kissed her hard, kissed her well, kissed her to forget about everything except him. He caressed her face as if she were a fragile piece of glass, scared to break her. He allowed his lips to mould against hers like a Greek statue, forever and always, an epic love that could never be forgotten.
Damon remembered the first time they kissed, how they were never shy when their lips touched. He remembered how they pushed themselves against each other at the restroom of The Ground, how they kissed longer and rougher and breathing heavily. He remembered how when they pulled away they gazed into each other's eyes, how it felt like the world had stopped and they were the only ones in the room. He remembered how it was to fall in love with someone that moment, how he asked himself, "I wonder if this is love?"
At that moment, as he kissed Freya underneath the snow, he had gotten his answer. That was love. That was fucking love, and he liked it. He liked it, he wanted it, he desired it. And maybe it was because Freya's mouth was on his, moving so carefully and perfectly, but he didn't care. That was love, and he didn't care.