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❝it's you, and it's me❞
"KLAUS!"
The familiar voice sends chills down her spine, and she nearly drops the mug in her hand when she hears it.
"Klaus, where are you?"
Damon stumbles to an abrupt stop when he sees her.
It's her– it truly is, there's no mistaking her for anyone else when he's staring into the eyes he's spent nearly two hundred years dreaming of.
"Rosemary?"
"Damon?"
He forgets what he need to tell Klaus as soon as she says his name, because the mere sound of her voice makes his heart pound in his chest. He steps towards her as she takes a step towards him, and he just barely catches her as she crumples before him.
Damon cradles her familiar frame against him, a hand combing through her curly brown hair he used to spend hours weaving daisies into while she read to him in the gardens behind his house. He buries his nose in the crown of her head and inhales, listening to the quiet tears she's spilling, and the rapid beat of her pulse that sounds like a symphony in his ears.
"Ro," He tips her head backwards, cradling her cheeks in his hands and brushing his thumbs beneath her mascara-stained eyes.
"Is it you?" She whimpers, her hands coming to rest on top of his. "Is it really you, or is this another dream?"
He shakes his head, and his heart aches with sympathy knowing she'd been haunted just as he had. "It's me. I promise it's me, Rosemary."
She chokes around the lump in her throat, and her fingers intertwine with his against her cheeks. "I've waited solong. I tried to come home, I tried but I was so terrified you'd think I was a monster. I tortured myself because I would've rather you think I was dead then have you hate me."
"I could never," His voice cracks uncontrollably and he blinks back the tears welling in his ice blue eyes. "I could never hate you. And I don't blame you for staying away, you needed them."
Rosemary shakes her head. "I needed you more. I always needed you more."
"Don't leave me again. Please." Damon pulls her to him, hugging her to his chest and clinging to any part of her he can touch like his life depends on it.
"I won't," She shakes her head against him and squeezes him a bit tighter. "I swear."
He pulls away from her just barely, and looks at her tear-streaked cheeks that are stained with runny mascara, and smudged red lipstick. She looks the same as she did the day they got married, she's as stunning as she's always been and his heart is pounding painfully against his ribs.
