1976 — Manhattan, New York

   They had found it on 96th Street, two streets away from Central Park. It wasn't big, but it was spacious. The walls decorated with several paintings that were given to them by Ioanna. The furniture was simple, cheap, just what they could afford. The bedroom, which was painted white and bright and decorated with a few crystals Freya had brought from her home, was where they spent most of the time. The bed was big, just enough room for them to roll around in. The walls, which were a very pale grey, were decorated with two paintings Ioanna had given them and photographs they had taken with an old instant camera.

   It wasn't big, or extravagant, but it was home.

   Damon looked up at the woman that sat on top of him, the same woman that held a camera close to his face and pointed the lens down at him. "What are you doing?" he asked, his hand running up and down her waist. He wasn't bothered one bit, but he was tired.

   "Taking a picture," she responded, pushing down on the button. A flash came from the camera, blinding him for several seconds. The film slowly came from the bottom of the camera. She grabbed it, laid it on the bedside table, then fell to her side to lay next to him. "Take one with me."

   "Freya, you have wasted more than half of the films just taking pictures of the apartment," he said, turning to his side to look at her.

   "I have spent half of the films taking pictures of us," she corrected, turning her head to look at him with a smile. "These are memories, Damon, memories that we need to cherish for as long as we live. It's our first apartment together, just you and I, and this is a great memory."

   "A great memory," he softly repeated, nodding. "You know what's a great memory, too? Sleep."

   Freya laughed and rolled her eyes. "Yeah, sleep is great, but where's the fun in that?"

   "Just close your eyes and count sheep," he said, wrapping his arms around her waist. He pressed gentle kisses on her shoulder, then let out a deep breath filled with calmness. "It's easy."

   Several seconds later, he heard the camera go off and saw the flash behind his lids. He opened one eye and looked at her, really looked at her. Bare-faced Freya was beautiful, with a few freckles decorating her cheeks, her watercolour green eyes illuminated by the Christmas lights they had hanging in the wall, and the simplicity of her bare lips when she kissed him. It was in those moments when he breathed I love you's against her lips.

   "Freya," he muttered, closing his eyes again. "Please, go to sleep."

   "Ugh," she groaned. "Fine."

   Hours later, Damon woke up to an empty bed and the police sirens blaring outside of his apartment. He sat up, looked around, and ran a hand through his hair. The clock on the bedside table told him that it was five in the afternoon, an hour after The Ground would open. He yawned, scratched his head, and stood from the bed to make his way to the kitchen. It wasn't big, but it was enough for just the two of them. Just like in her home in Provincetown, there were drying herbs hanging on the walls, creating a good scent to move around the kitchen. There were two large crystals, an green-pink Elestial Quartz and a Satyaloka Quartz that was given to her great-grandmother by a monk from the Satya Loka monastery in southern India. According to her, they were healing crystals, crystals that were supposed to bring energy into their apartment. He thought it was a silly superstition, but he was slightly wary do to the things that had occurred in his life time, one of them being that he was a vampire.

   He stopped moving when the thought ran through his head; he was a vampire. He was a creature of the night, one that spent most of its time preying on weak mortals just to get a drink of their blood. He was immortal, he would live forever, and Freya was human. Damon shook his head and finished his drink of water, deciding to ignore those thoughts for as long as he could. 

   Not even an hour later, the vampire had gotten dressed and made his way to Billy's, the bar he had gone to so many times that he had forgotten about it. Just like the last time he went, nothing had changed. The stench of sex, sewage, and blood was all around, mixing in with the numerous punk-rockers that enjoyed the live music. Will stood behind the bar, serving drinks and mixing in a few drops of blood in them for those creatures of the night. Thomas was sitting at the bar, a drink in hand as he flirting with a young bunny that had no idea what was happening.

   Damon took a seat by the boy, causing him to spit out his drink and let out a laugh. "Damon Salvatore!" he greeted, spreading his arms. "I haven't seen you in months, man! I thought you let New York."

   "I've been busy," Damon smirked, tapping the bar with his knuckles.

   "I've heard about you," Thomas continued, taking a sip of his drink. "Vampires sure like to talk."

   "What have they been saying?" Damon asked in curiosity.

   "They say you settled down," someone else answered. Damon turned his head to the bar, seeing a grinning Will serving him a glass of bourbon mixed with blood. "They've seen you around town with that bunny, the one you were with since August."

   "Freya," Thomas continued with a teasing grin. "There are bets going around, wondering when you'll rip her pretty neck up and drink her dry."

   Damon shot him a glare, making the boy to look away and swallow back in fear. He turned back to the drink Will had served for him, and took a swig. The cool drink calmed him down, only a bit, though. There was still a hint of anger running through him. He didn't want to hear about the bets, about them waiting for him to drink from Freya. It was never going to happen, and he would make sure of it.

   Will slapped Thomas in the back of the head. "You need to learn when to shut your mouth," he spat. "Listen, Damon, I apologise for this brute. I can see that you're getting attached to this bunny, too attached if you ask me, but it's none of my business."

   "It's none of your business," Damon repeated, glancing at both vampires with a glare.

   "Exactly," Will nodded, "but you need to know, there are people out there that are already asking about it."

   Damon's ears perked up, his body slightly tensed, and his eyes quickly collided with those of his friends. "What do you mean by people are asking about it?"

   Will glanced around, then leaned over the bar to whisper, "I had a man come in a few days ago asking for you," he quietly divulged. "Some well-dressed fellow, obviously from out of town."

   "And what did you tell him?" Damon asked through his teeth, the anger rising.

   "Nothing," Will answered, raising his hands in defeat. "He looked pretty curious about you, but I said nothing, Damon, really." Once again, he glanced around then leaned over the bar. "This fellow, though, he felt powerful."

   "Vampire?" Damon asked, tightly closing his fist.

   Will shook his head. "It didn't feel like a vampire," he said, "it was just powerful. I don't know how to describe it."

   "How did he look like?"

   "Tall, handsome, had money," Will shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know what else can I tell you. But, it was weird seeing a well-dressed fellow down here, lawyer-type of guy."

   "What exactly did he ask?"

   "He asked about you, mostly about you, but it was also 'bout that bunny you've been seeing," Will nodded. "I said that I don't know to every question that he asked, then told him to get out if he wasn't going to buy anything."

   Damon nodded and looked down at the half empty cup. He felt worried, as if anything could happen at any moment. Freya was with him, an official couple that now lived together, and he had many enemies. What could happen now? Any vampire that hated him, any vampire that wanted their revenge against him could destroy his happiness with a simple snap of their fingers. At that moment, for the first time in a long time, Damon Salvatore was afraid. 

   "Listen, Will," he began, standing. "I want out."

   "Out of..."

   "This whole ID thing," he explained, almost rolling his eyes. "I don't think I'll be able to do it again."

   "You'll be back," Will smiled, shrugging his shoulders. "This, you, her; it's all just temporary, Damon. We all know monsters can't have happy endings."

   "I'll enjoy mine for as long as I can," Damon told him, laying a five dollar bill on the counter then walking away.

   He pushed his hands deep inside the pocket of his jacket, eyes glancing at his surroundings. The New York streets were busy with tourists and those that lives there, the difference seen it all. The tourists had marvelled-filled eyes that stared at everything in awe while those that have lived there were walking corpses. They desired nothing more but to go home, eat, rest, drink, sleep for years. The tourists, on the other hand, wanted nothing more but to keep exploring the most beautiful—yet horrendous—cities in the whole world. Filled with blinding light and screaming cab drivers, New York was one of a kind, which may be one of the reasons why the vampire came.

   Damon made it back to his apartment in one peace, with alcohol at the tip of his tongue and thoughts blinding his mind. He sat on the dining tale with a bottle of whiskey and his fingers tapping against the table as his mind reeled over every little thing that could go wrong. If he stayed with Freya, and this person that was looking for him found her, god knew that could happen. Because of him, the woman that he loved could be killed. But, God, he was too selfish to leave her. He couldn't imagine himself leaving her, just walking away when his life was beginning to look so good, so happy.

   It was an hour later, when he drank half of the bottle, that Freya returned from work. She called his name, almost warily with a hint of a smile in her tone. "Damon!"

   He pushed himself back and stood, unsure on what to say or do. "I'm coming," he called. He walked to the entrance of their apartment, but stopped when he saw that she was holding a small, furry animal in her hands. "Freya, what is that?"

   "I know you hate cats," she smiled, "but this little guy followed me for three blocks and I couldn't just leave him outside in the cold!"

   "Freya..."

   "Just look at his face, Damon!" she gushed, pushing the cat closer to him. "Look at it, look at it!"

   He looked down at the cat, seeing its hazel coloured eyes look at him. The cat let out a meow, making him make a face. "It's... It's..." He scratched the back of his head and glanced at Freya, seeing her smile. Even though it was small, it appeared that it could light up his whole world. He let out a sigh and nodded. "Yeah, okay, whatever. But, I don't want him on the bed!"

   Freya grinned, put the cat down, and stepped towards him. She laid her hands on his cheeks and laid a kiss on his lips. When she pulled away, she kept the big grin on her lips. "You'll love him," she said. "By the way, his name is Milo."