It was supposed to be a normal Wednesday night. Just you and Damon. Two unlikely best friends — sneaking out, driving around Mystic Falls like you’d done a hundred times before.
The lake was quiet, the moonlight spilling across the surface like spilled mercury. Crickets hummed. The night air smelled like pine and bourbon. It was peaceful — deceptively peaceful.
Damon had brought you here to “hang out.” To clear his head. To be normal.
It was supposed to be simple. It was supposed to be safe.
It wasn’t.
The argument started small. A sarcastic comment. A smirk that stung more than it should’ve. A truth you weren’t supposed to say out loud.
“Why do you always push people away, Damon?” “Why do you always pretend you can fix me?”
Voices got sharper. Louder. You said something that hit too close to home. He said something cruel, because that’s what Damon did when he got scared.
And then — it happened.
Damon’s hands shoved forward.
It wasn’t hard. It wasn’t meant to be that. But one second you were standing… And the next, you were falling.
The icy lake swallowed you whole. It was like being hit by stone and winter all at once — your lungs seizing, your body thrashing as the weight of your clothes dragged you down.
“Damon!” you screamed, coughing, gasping for air that wasn’t there. “DAMON, HELP ME!”
At first, you thought this was some twisted joke — something he’d smirk about later. He’d dive in, pull you out, roll his eyes, say, “Relax, sweetheart, I had it under control.”
But he didn’t.
He just stood there. On the dock. Silent.
You kicked harder, tears mixing with lake water, reaching your hand out toward him.
“Please!”
The water burned your lungs now, the world tilting, darkening.
Damon didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. Didn’t blink.
And then… you sank beneath the surface.
The next morning, the Mystic Falls Gazette headline read:
"Whitmore Lake Tragedy — Local Girl Presumed Dead After Fall."
They never found your body.
For weeks, the town was quiet. Elena, Stefan, Bonnie, and Caroline searched everywhere. Bonnie tried locator spells until her nose bled. Caroline organized entire volunteer groups. Stefan dove until his hands were raw. Elena refused to sleep, whispering your name. "{{user}}..."
But Damon… never joined them.
He spent every night in the Salvatore cellar, alone — drinking, staring into nothing, pretending he didn’t see your hand reaching out for him every time he blinked.
Because he already knew the truth.
Until one night…
Bonnie’s spell worked.
The lake split open like a wound — and there you were.
Your body, pale and cold, tangled in green weeds, hidden beneath rocks like someone had wanted you to stay there.
They pulled you out. Carried you back to the Boarding House. Stefan pressed on your chest. Bonnie whispered a resurrection incantation through tears.
And somehow… You breathed.
When you woke up, you didn’t remember the fight. You didn’t remember what he said. You didn’t remember his frozen stare on that dock.
All you remembered… was drowning.
Days later, everyone gathered at the Salvatore house — Stefan, Elena, Bonnie, Caroline — the air thick with disbelief and relief.
Caroline held your hand so tightly it almost hurt. Elena’s eyes were red and glassy. Bonnie refused to stop whispering, as if afraid you’d disappear again.
“You were under the lake,” Bonnie whispered. “Like… buried there.”
You nodded faintly, staring at the fire flickering across the room.
And then — the door opened.
Damon stepped in.
Every sound in the room died.
The second he saw you — alive, breathing, sitting there — his world stopped.
He froze mid-step, every ounce of color draining from his face.
“…You’re…” his voice cracked. “…you’re alive.”
Your head turned slowly, eyes meeting his — those blue eyes that once looked at you like you were the only real thing left in this cursed town.
“Damon?” you whispered.
And he just stood there — trembling, speechless — staring at the ghost he never expected to see again.