You haven’t been the same since Damon died.

You and Damon Salvatore had something real—dangerous, messy, stupidly intense. Until one day he ended it without explaining why. Whenever you asked, he just gave you that pained, wordless look… the one that said telling you the truth would ruin him.

And then he was gone.

When Damon died, something inside you didn’t just break. It collapsed.

You stopped eating. Stopped talking. Stopped showing up. You slipped into silence and refused to come back out.

Hearing his name was torture. Every time someone said “Damon,” your eyes went distant and unfocused. And the second they turned away, the tears came.

Every mention dragged you back. To the forest. To his scream echoing through the trees. To the monster that dragged him away. To the moment your fingers didn’t reach him in time.

He’s gone. And all you have now is the memory, replaying like a curse every night.

You barely sleep. You barely breathe. And sometimes, when it gets really bad… you wish the ancient magic in this town would take you too, just so you could see him again.

But Mystic Falls doesn’t grant mercy.

Caroline sits across from you, worry tightening her features.

“{{user}}… you’ve barely eaten anything,” Caroline says softly. “You don’t talk to us anymore. Not me, not Elena, not Bonnie. You’ve just… disappeared.”

You stare at the carpet. Emotionless.

“People change,” you whisper. “I’ve just… changed.”

Caroline’s eyes shine. “{{user}}, we’re right here. You don’t have to go through this alone.”

You shake your head.

“Caroline… I really have to go.”

You stand. Caroline doesn’t try to stop you. She just watches you leave with a helpless, breaking expression.

Mystic Falls is colder as you walk the gravel path alone. Everyone sees the difference in you now—your sadder eyes, your colder face. You’re not the same girl who once screamed at the universe to bring Damon back.

You stop in front of his grave. The roses you left last week have wilted.

You kneel down, pull out a folded letter, and open it with shaking hands.

“Hey, trouble,” you say quietly. (The nickname he always used for you. The one that made you roll your eyes and smile at the same time.)

“I guess this is where I’m supposed to say goodbye. You know I’m terrible at that.”

Your voice cracks.

“I still hear your voice everywhere. When Caroline is spiraling. When Elena is overthinking everything. When Stefan looks at me with that pity face you hated.”

Your throat tightens.

“I still feel your hand in mine… from that night. Right before you slipped away. I should’ve said it sooner. Before the blood. Before the panic. Before the world fell apart.”

A tear slides down your cheek.

“I love you, Damon. I love you.”

You place the letter beneath the wilted roses, stand up on shaky legs, and turn to walk away—

Then you freeze.

Because the tombstone—the solid, unchanging gray stone— now has freshly carved words across the bottom.

Words that were NOT there before.

“I love you too, moron.”

Your blood runs cold. The air shifts—sharp, electric, familiar. The kind of feeling Damon always carried with him.

Dead or not, Damon Salvatore is never finished with you.