1976 — Manhattan, New York

   Damon Salvatore began to admire every quirk Freya Beauchene had, have it be small or little. She always wore an amethyst necklace inside a silver plated cage, at least an inch and a half, and it always felt warm whenever he touched it. When he asked about it, she said that her grandmother gave it to her when she turned twenty. Amethysts were known as a natural stress reliever that encouraged inner strength and brought wealth and a strong business sense to its wearer. They, apparently, repelled negative energy and attracted positive energy. He thought the stone didn't work since it attracted him, a negative energy to the world and everything living there.

   Each night, he spent it at The Ground, or when she wasn't working at her house. He became good friends with Frederick, Freya's twin brother, who also wore a similar necklace but with a bloodstone instead. He told him that it purified and detoxified the body, grounded negative energy and cleaned the body's energy, increased energy and strength, promoting a constant flow of energy throughout the body. Damon could see why the man chose the bloodstone, since he didn't seem to stop moving whenever he was around. 

   "It's Halloween, what the hell are you doing here instead of with that bunny?" Will asked Damon, handing him a glass of bourbon.

   Halloween, the most loved holiday by both the supernatural and humans. It was the day where they could say whatever, do whatever, and there would be little to no consequences. The speckled blood on a vampire's chin would be thought as part of their costume, and that was what Damon was going for.

   "Thought I'd give Billy's a chance for at least a few hours," Damon answered, smirking as he took a quick drink. "Decided to give her the night without me, you know, free her of a vampire boyfriend for a while."

   "You haven't told her you're a vampire?" Will laughed and shook his head. 

   "And what, have her stake me?" Damon chuckled. "Nah, I'd rather enjoy these moments for a while."

   "Like I haven't heard that before," Will laughed, once again, as he cleaned the sticky counter from its spilled alcohol. He looked up at the blue-eyed vampire in front of him, and smiled. "You have any more of what I asked?"

   Damon pulled out a few sticky ID's from his pocket, laying them in front of him with a wiggle of his brows. The cards were stuck together, covered in fresh and dried blood. The vampire smirked and licked his thumb and index finger. "Eight. You're welcome."

   "Killing streak," Will chuckled, grabbing the ID's and setting them inside a box filled with other numerous ID's from Damon's victims. He allowed the vampire to feed in his bar, and in return he would get the ID's from the victims, in which he would then sell to other supernatural creatures that were on the run or just wanted to change their identities. "So, tell me, what is it with you and that Freya bunny? I've never seen you so hung up on a girl before. You're more of a sleep-and-drain kind of guy."

   Damon let out a sarcastic laugh, shaking his head. "It's not like I don't plan on taking a drink from her," he chuckled. "Maybe later, but not now. I'm enjoying my moments with her for a while."

   "Seems that the badass Damon is falling in love," Will scoffed, rolling his eyes. "Right on, brother. Enjoy that bunny for a while."

   "Shut it," Damon hissed, glaring. He squeezed the glass so hard that it broke, sending shards flying and some digging into his palm. "I'm not... I'm not doing that. I don't fall in love, Will."

   "Yeah, okay," the other vampire chuckled. "Whatever you say, Damon. Hey, think you can get more by the end of the night?"

   Damon fed on more people for the next two hours, savouring the blood on his tongue as if he were a quenched man. He pulled away from the woman in front of him, swallowing a harsh gulp of blood and then licking his lips. The girl fell by his feet, which allowed him to pick up her purse, search for her wallet, and take the the money and the ID she had in there. It was the sixteenth ID he had gotten after his conversation with Will, the sixteenth kill from the anger that swam in his veins. 

   He had gotten angry because he wasn't supposed to fall in love. In fact, he was supposed to feel nothing but adrenaline and the high that came from the blood. Damon was supposed to be without humanity, so why was he feeling something for the bartender with sultry green eyes? He thought that maybe it was some side effect of being without humanity, or maybe the numerous gallons of bloods he had consumed since he arrived in New York.

   He handed the cards to Will, got two free glasses of bourbon, and then headed to The Ground. There were countless of people dressed in costumes. He didn't know many Gene Simmons had he seen since he first walked in, but there were so many that he couldn't help but stare and furrow his brows with each step. With a roll of his eyes, he turned to the bar. Leaning against the bar, a cigarette in between her lips, stood Freya Beauchene. She was dressed in an over-the-shoulder silky black dress, lips tainted a bright red, and her hair styled in curls from the 1940's.

   Damon walked up to her, smirking, eyeing her. "Hey, baby-doll," he greeted. "Where can a swigger like me get some booze?"

   "Damon," she smiled, slowly moving to him with the lit cigarette between her fingers. "I thought you'd be coming in later."

    "I'm a menace to society," he chuckled. "It's better for me to come now. So, Freya, what are you dressed as?"

   "Lauren Bacall in How To Marry a Millionaire," she smiled. "What are you dressed as? Yourself?"

   "Me?" He shrugged his shoulders and downed the shot she had laid on front of him. "I'm dressed as a vampire." He wiggled his fingers in her direction and lifted his top lip to show an invisible set of fangs.

   Freya laughed and rolled her eyes. "That explains the blood on you."

   Damon looked down and saw how he was drenched in blood from his neck down. Normally, he wouldn't have been such a messy eater, but it was Halloween and he was a vampire; he wanted to look the part. He looked up at the bartender and smirked, nodding. "Oh, you know. I just got done with my victim."

   "Uh-huh," she laughed. "Of course you did, Damon."

   "No, it's true," he said. "Her name was Vivien Currie, A negative blood, and she was a pre-med student at Manhattan College."

   "How long did it take you to make her up?" Freya asked, smiling. Not once did her smile falter, not once did she worry about it being true. Damon could see the amusement in her eyes, how they crinkled and she was prepared to laugh, roll her eyes, serve him a glass of neat bourbon, and ask how his day had been. He reminded himself that any truth he said would be taken as a joke since it was Halloween.

   "A few seconds," he shrugged. "I was thinking of an excuse to give you, for the blood, you know."

   Once again, she laughed. He watched her carefully, to see if there was any sign of faltering, of her realizing that he was indeed saying the truth. Deep inside, he wanted her to push him as far away as possible. He knew that he would end up hurting her, because that was what he was made for. Vampires were evil in a form, and moving and breathing destruction that teared apart every little thing that came close to him. Damon knew that if he continued to get close to Freya he would end up destroying her, just like he had destroyed so many things before her.

   "Damon, what's up, man?" A man dressed as Frankenstein greeted him, smiling.

   "Frederick?" Damon let out a scoff. "So, you're Frankenstein. I can see the similarities."

   Frederick laughed sarcastically. "Frankenstein is bitchin', I'll have you know."

   "You do know that Frankenstein was the doctor, right?" Freya asked, watching her brother with an arched brow. "The monster didn't have a name."

   "Yeah, well, I'm Boris Karloff's Frankenstein monster," the eldest twin defended, "or whatever."

   "Still makes no sense," Damon said, sipping from his glass. "Next time, find a good argument."

   "Screw the both of you," Frederick huffed, marching away as he threw a rag over his shoulder.

   Freya laughed and shook her head. "He's a dumbass," she said, and turned back to him. "So, how have you been, Damon?"

   "Other than feeding on my victims, it's been boring," he responded. shrugging.

   "Oh, then you should stay," she nodded. "Wait for the band to come on."

   "Ooh, a band," he smiled. "Please tell me they're not dressed as KISS or some shitty costume."

   "You should see for yourself." She pointed behind him, to the stage.

   Damon turned back, and all he saw was a dim-lit stage and many people dressed in costumes. Girls dressed as sexy anything's, men dressed movie characters. The band, who was setting up, were dressed as monsters: Dracula, a werewolf, Frankenstein's monster, a mummy, and a zombie. He didn't know whether to be surprised or admire them for putting on such elaborate costumes for a show. They soon began to play, and he couldn't help but tap his feet to the rhythm.

   Freya served him a glass of bourbon, the alcoholic drink that suddenly became his favourite since the first night she had given it to him. He enjoyed the burnt toast taste it had on his tongue, and how it reminded him of how shit he was. Damon watched the girl move behind the bar, admiring how her hips moved with each walk, how her red lips invited him in, and how the low cut dress seemed to be teasing him. If he could, he would have pulled her to the restroom.

   He shook his head and began to pay attention to everything else around him. The bar was decorated in fake cobwebs with glow-in-the-dark spiders and other insects, there were Halloween themed drinks that a few people had in their hands, free snacks shaped like fingers, worms, eyeballs, spiders. There were orange and black balloons thrown all over the place, a few people throwing them in the air as they danced to the music. Glowsticks of every colour were swung around the air, some of them on the dancing people. He could see how the Beauchene's loved Halloween with the décor and the lively atmosphere. It felt livelier than normal, with a sense of detachment strapped to the place. Damon couldn't name it, but it felt strange.

   Suddenly, his hand was grabbed and he was pulled to the floor. He looked at the woman holding his hand, and saw a grinning Freya. From the black dress, she had changed to a strappy red dress. Her hair was no longer tightly curled, but falling in loose waves. He preferred this Freya, the one with unmanageable hair and a fun grin around her lips.

   She danced in front of hair, running her hands through her hair and never allowing the grin to falter. She moved her hips, shook her head, and allowed freedom to take her. Not once did she top moving, and not once did Damon stop staring. He took her hands and began to dance with her, spinning her and bumping into the bodies that were dancing close to him.

   It was as if time stopped for Damon Salvatore. Right there, in that October 31st of 1976, he felt more alive than he ever did since 1864, since Katherine Pierce. He felt his chest swell with emotions, his head jumbled up at the very sight of Freya Beauchene, and right there he decided to admit that his humanity had been turned on by her, that he was feeling all because of the green-eyed bartender. He wanted to hate her, to bite into her neck and drink her dry, but how could he when he felt so many emotions at her very sight.

   "What's with the change of attire?" he asked, arching a brow and smirking. 

  "I couldn't dance in it," she responded, opening her eyes and staring up at him. "I have much more movement in this."

   He rolled his eyes, and for the first time in more than twenty years, he let out a laugh. Damon took a step back from the sudden surprise. How could he laugh? How could he feel? Freya, this bartender that looked up at him as if he hadn't done anything wrong in the world, shouldn't make him feel. He remembered how he let a good friend of his die, how he let him explode with the rest of the people that tortured them. How can he feel so happy when he had done so many shitty things?

   Damon suddenly leaned down and pushed his lips against hers. He held her cheeks between his hands, feeling the soft and warm skin beneath his fingertips. As he kissed her, his brain lit on fire and the warmth spread through his entire body. The kiss obliterated every thought. For the first time in a long time, Damon's mind was locked into the present. The worries had evaporated like water on hot asphalt. His usual mode of hating everything was suspended; he had no wish for the kiss to end. He was drunk on endorphins, his only desire was to touch her, to move his hand under her soft dress and feel her perfect softness. In moments that the soft caress had become perfect fire, he savoured her lips and the quickening of her breath matched his own. A kiss like this was a beginning, a promise of much more to come.

   He pulled away and stared down at her. It was winter meeting spring, flowers springing from the frozen ground and making their home in the heart of the forest. Newly bloomed bluebells from the valley, enchanting, delicate, in warm green grass that had been reborn from the dryness of winter. 

  "Damon?" Freya questioned, furrowing her brows and staring up at him. "Are you okay?"

   "Yeah," he nodded. "I'm fine. Just... I'm just feeling better."

   "Were you feeling bad before?" She tilted her head to the side and let out a soft chuckle, soon followed by a smile.

   "I was," he answered. "I was feeling like complete shit for so many years, but now..."

   "Now?"

   "Now I feel like I can breathe."

   Freya grinned and nodded, taking his hand. "I have a question to ask you."

   "Aw, are you going to ask me to marry you?" he teased her. "Freya, it's too early for marriage, don't you think?"

   She jokingly slapped him on the chest. "My grandparents married each other three months after they met, I'll have you know." Her smile faded, and she shrugged her shoulders. "Well, they say it was arranged, but they do love each other very much."

   "Oh, that's supposed to make me feel so much better," Damon chuckled. 

   "Shut up!" she laughed, slapping him in the chest once again. "Now, would you let me ask you?"

   "Aren't we a little too old for prom?"

   "Damon."

   "Sorry, you were saying?"

  Freya took a deep breath, looked up at him, and smiled. "What are you doing for Thanksgiving?"