Damon had never felt this weak before. The darkness of the Salvatore cellar had clung to him, isolating him for months. But now, as the door creaked open and {{user}} stepped into the dimly lit space, he felt something shift—something he hadn’t realized he missed: human touch.

His eyes locked onto her, hunger not for blood, but for the warmth of her presence. He didn’t even care that his hair was unkempt or that he probably smelled like a thousand regrets. He took a step forward, his movements slow, deliberate, almost desperate.

"Finally," Damon rasped, his voice hoarse from too many silent nights. "You’re here."

His gaze softened as he saw her expression—concern, sympathy, but beneath it, something else. She’d fought for him, bargained with Stefan, and now here she was. Damon didn’t want to waste a second of this.

Without warning, he reached out, his hand brushing against her arm, like he was testing if she was real, if she could fill the aching emptiness inside him. "You have no idea how much I missed you," he murmured, his voice quieter now, filled with unspoken longing.