1976— Provincetown, Massachusetts

   Usually, Damon Salvatore would spend New Years downing a couple of beers and a few unlucky victims. It was what he did every year, in every town, every 31st of December, ever since he lost his humanity. But, then, finally, the small light in his life brought back this dreaded humanity and made him care, made him feel special. There was a part of him that hated that feeling, because he knew it was temporary. That peace he had finally found was temporary.

   Damon slowly opened his eyes, the brightness coming in from the frosty window making him close them again. He inhaled deeply. It was the scent of breakfast, the scent of a woman laying on the bed right next to him. He turned and wrapped his arms around the naked torso of the woman, pulling her towards him and laying a kiss on her shoulder. He let his lips to linger on that spot, just so he could feel the sensation of her skin on him.

   "Damon," the woman moaned, annoyed. "It's too early."

   The vampire let out a chuckle and pressed yet another kiss on the same spot on her shoulder. "It's nine." He pulled away from her and let his head fall on the pillow with a long breath escaping his mouth. "No, yeah, you're right. It's too early."

   It was Freya who chuckled this time. She turned and wrapped her arm around his torso, laying a gentle kiss on his shoulder just like he had done to her. She laid her head on his shoulder and let out a soft sigh. "Happy New Years," she said, softly, almost as if there were more people in the room and she only wanted him to hear.

   "It's still the 31st," he said, opening his eyes. "I'll say it tomorrow."

   Freya let out a short laugh. "Should we get up?"

   "I'd rather stay here," he told her as a smirk formed around his lips, "with you. Naked."

   "Yeah, we're getting up." She tapped him on the shoulder several times and stood, wrapping the sheer blanket around her.

  "Come on, Freya," Damon chuckled, eyeing as she walked around the room to pick up her clothes. "Just a bit more."

   She threw his shirt at him and smiled, let out a small laugh that resonated around the room like the melody of a music box. Damon noticed how she was much better than Christmas, how she smiled more, how she seemed to have forgotten about the accident. You could bet everything in the world to know that Damon Salvatore did not. It was fresh in his mind, fresh in his fingertips as he wished to squeeze the life out of the person that did that to his home. No, squeezing the life out of the person would be much mercy to them from him. What he wanted to do was torture them to the point where they would beg for death; he wanted to rip out their tongue and make them eat it, rip out their fingers, burn him. What the vampire wanted to do was give him the most gruesome death New York and the world would ever see.

   "Damon!" Freya called.

   The vampire looked up at her and raised a brow. "Yeah?"

   "You must have been deep in your mind," she chuckled, shaking her head. "I asked you a very important question."

   "What was it?"

   Freya let go of the blanket, allowing it to pool around her feet. She tilted her head to the side as she looked at the vampire, a small and seducing smirk around her lips. "Want to shower with me?"

   "Honey, if I ever say no please kill me." He stood from the bed and followed her to the shower, where he immediately kissed her under the hot water.

   Damon kissed her hard, slow, taking his time to taste her mouth. His hand reached up to her neck as hers brushed up his chest and entangled in his hair. He heard her breathing, her heartbeat against his chest, the low bustling in the kitchen as everyone moved around, but he ignored that. What he focused on more was the naked woman in front of him, the one that kissed him just as hard as he kissed her. He pulled away and kissed her neck, nipping at the space between her shoulder. 

   "Damon," she breathed. 

   He pulled away and looked down at her, the water falling to his head. He drank her in, just like he had done so many times before. A smile found itself to form around his lips. "I love you," he said. "Goddamn it, I love you, Freya."

   Freya laid her hands on his cheeks and pulled him to her, laying a kiss on his lips. When she pulled away, she smiled. "I love you," she said, softly, like a secret. "I love you."

   In the afternoon, after the pair had finished their shower and went down stairs, Arthur made Damon go with him to buy fireworks. The vampire had never been nervous, had never felt awkward, until the moment he was in the same car as Arthur Bergfalk. He sat in the passengers seat with his arms pressed to his body and his eyes darting from the side to the front. Every now and then he would clear his throat and shift, his fingers scraping against the leather of his jacket. 

   As they drove, Arthur would point out places: "That's where Freya fell and almost broke her arm," he said as he pointed at a big tree in a park. "That's where Frederick beat a boy because he teased Rohan," he said as he pointed at a orange coloured house. "That's where I almost had a fight with Hank Hill because he almost hit my truck." He pointed at an old gas station with a big for sale sign.

   "Where are we going?" Damon asked after a few minutes of silence. No, not silence, of being uncomfortable. The loud roaring of the engine of the truck over the music coming from the radio. The truck, and old white and red Dodge truck from '58, still surprisingly worked well with the care Arthur had given it.

   "We're gonna buy some fireworks," the man answered as he turned right. "I already told you that, Damon."

   "Right," the vampire inhaled. "Yeah, forgot."

   They stopped in front of a big tent with numerous other cars parked in front of it. Inside, people of all ages were looking at the displayed fireworks. Arthur seemed to have known what he wanted, because he walked up to the counter and immediately began to point at the items. Damon stood besides him and watched, and wondered.

   If he were human, if he could grow old, would he do the same things with his children? He imagined a life where he had children with Freya; where he taught them to call him dad; where he helped them take their first steps; where he taught them to fight and stand up for themselves; where he would go to school functions and give them the world. If he were human, if he'd have children, he would give them the universe. He would treat them with love, with kindness, with everything his father didn't give him. If he had children, Damon Salvatore would be the best father he could be.

   He imagined in the drive home: two boys and a girl. The boys would look like Freya, dark hair and striking green eyes. The girl would look like him, dark ringlets and blue eyes that resembled the sky. He could vividly see that life, that special life that he desired more than anything. The vampire saw himself at the birth, saw himself crying the first time he got to hold his flesh and blood, saw himself leaning down and calling them by their name as they reached for his finger and tightly held it in their tiny hands. 

   The vampire saw himself teaching them how to talk, how to call him dad and Freya mom, how to say apple and banana and eat and drink. He saw himself listening to the first time they called him dad, the second time his heart would skip a beat at the sound of his child calling him dad.

   He saw himself teaching them how to walk, his hands on theirs, their feet on his, slowly taking steps forward one by one. He saw himself videotaping their first steps by themselves, Freya not so far behind with a big grin on her lips as she watched their children walk to their father.

   He saw himself enrolling them in school, teaching them how to read and write, fighting with the teachers when one of his children did something wrong but defending them because that was what a parent was supposed to do—or maybe because he was too proud in himself. Then, when they returned home, he would lecture them and tell them that what they did was wrong.

   He saw himself at the day of their prom, taking pictures of their dates and making fun of them for doing their bow tie wrong.

   He saw himself at their graduation, where he'd have greying hair and wrinkles. He would cheer the loudest when the name of their child was called, smile the widest, feel the most proud out of every other parent in that room. He would look over at Freya, smile, and say, "they made it."

   He saw himself taking them to college.

   He saw himself at their wedding.

   He saw a human life with love and children and everything he couldn't have. Something in the pit of his stomach twisted hard, making him swallow back and look out the window as Arthur hummed to the song on the radio. The vampire bit the inside of his lip and hoped to forget about everything he imagined, the perfect life that he could never reach.

   "What made you propose to Freya?" The man that has been humming the song on the radio asked. 

   Damon turned to look at him, pursed his lips, and shrugged. "The same reason why everyone else proposes," he said. "I love her."

   "You love her," Arthur hummed, nodding. "Listen, son, you hurt her–"

   "You don't have to worry about that," Damon interrupted. "If I hurt her, I'll be the one to hurt myself."

   Arthur nodded as a smile grew on his lips. "That's good to know," he said. "Wouldn't want to be held accountable for murder if they found your body."

   The vampire was a bit surprised at his choice of words, but let out a chuckle and nodded. "Understandable," he nodded.

   "I'm just making sure you don't hurt her," Arthur said as he stopped the car in front of the house. "She's my first girl, Damon—my little girl. When you have a kid, you'll know that you'd harm anything and anyone that tried to harm them."

   Damon swallowed hard and nodded. When he had a kid—when the sun rises in the west and sets in the east, when the world was dying and he would turn into ashes and dust. That thought would always be fresh in his mind, tasting of dust and burnt toast on his tongue.

   When night came, the household was outside throwing fireworks. Rohan and Freya danced around with sparklers in their hands, wide grins on their laps, laughs at their throats. A few cousins were with them, all of them laughing and smiling and trying not to spill the drink they carried in their hands. Damon stood by Frederick and Thomas, listening to the radio and drinking their bears. They joked about creating a band, about going on tour, of a life Damon imagined, of humanity and nothing bu humanity.

   The vampire's eyes travelled to the girls. They were dancing to the music that played on the radio, laughing, so filled with peace that it made the vampire also fill with peace. Freya was dancing with Rohan, hands grabbed together and shaking each other with laughs. The vampire smiled. He drank from his beer to hide the smile, turning to look back at Frederick and Thomas.

   "Dance with me!" Freya laughed as she suddenly went towards him and grabbed his hands. She pulled him up, towards the circle where everyone else was dancing. She wrapped her arms around his neck and began to sway side to side, smiling up at him. 

   In defeat, Damon wrapped his arms around her waist and let her lead. "Freya, I've told you so many times that I don't dance."

   "Oh, you don't dance?" she asked, raising a brow. "I think I remember that time where you danced to swing music with me at The Ground."

   The vampire rolled his eyes, but smiled. "That is different," he said. He let a hand brush up her side and grabbed her hand, just like he had done that night they danced to swing music together. He looked down into her eyes and drank in that stare that was filled with love. With a soft smirk appearing around his lips, he pulled her away and spun her, just to pull her back to his chest and continue to swing side to side.

   "You really shouldn't ask me to dance," he softly said, almost pressing his forehead against hers. "You see, I dance better than you." He pulled her away from her and spun her once again, pulling her back to him with a smirk. 

   Freya scoffed. "You may dance better," she pulled him closer and whispered to his ear, "but we both know who's the better kisser here."

   "Me," he said with a shrug of his shoulder. "I'm the better kisser."

   She laughed. "Then what am I good at, Damon?"

   He stared down at her, the smirk disappearing into a small smile. "You're the best at tolerating me," he said. "You're the best at loving me."

   They had stopped dancing and just stared at each other. Looking to her eyes, Damon saw every piece of humanity in him be restored like a flower growing in complete darkness. He felt it at the tip of his stomach, slowly moving up to his chest and entangle in his hear like little prickly vines. It wasn't a harsh pain, but a good one, one that made him see how much he felt and cared and loved. 

   From behind them, they began to count down from ten. Nine. Eight.

   "I love you," Freya said with a soft smile.

   Seven. Six. Five.

   "I love you, too," Damon said, leaning down to kiss her.

   Four. Three. Two.

   "One," Freya hummed against his lips, smiling. Behind them, fireworks erupted. Fiery blooms of every colour, vivid colours to ignite the dark sky. Every streak curved of sorts, brilliant lines with a living feel, organic in the way they grow. A backdrop brought for the occasion. The air had a tincture of gun powder, a smell that took the vampire back to a time where he was at war. He pushed those thoughts to the deepest crevices of his mind.

   Damon smiled down at Freya and kissed her again, fireworks exploding all around them. When he pulled away, he breathed in the scent of her perfume and softly said, "Happy New Years, Freya."

   "Here's to many more," she said against his lips.