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At the sound of his voice, Elena whipped around, caught off guard. She was certain she looked disheveled - if only she’d waited a few minutes before taking down her hair. While she worried about her own appearance, the sight of Damon with his tie undone was decidedly sexy. It felt wrong, almost, like she shouldn’t have seen him like. Yet she couldn’t stop looking.

“I - yes,” she said with a sigh. “Your father certainly knows how to throw a proper ball. But it would be a lie if I said it wasn’t exhausting. So many people I hardly know with so many questions.” She looked at him pointedly, but quickly amended. “Not that I’m not grateful! It’s just certainly they don’t care about how I’m actually fairing.”

The success of the night left an unmistakable buzz in the air. Guests paraded out of the door chattering away as they piled into their carriages. The arrival of the Gilbert girl had spread quickly, and it seemed the entire town had made an appearance in support. Damon watched for hours as she was hounded by visitors, unable to break through the commotion himself.

Thankfully, the news of Damn's visit home drew its own slew of distractions. Friends and neighbors looking for updates on the war, clamoring for stories of grandeur and heroics. Damon entertained them, of course - banter over drinks is where he shined. He couldn't help but to look for Elena after every boisterous laugh or cheer he earned, hoping the attention would draw her interest.

He's warm from the liquor in his system when catches her weaving through the crowd, and his curiosity gets the best of him. He follows her path exactly - save for one interruption as he declines an invitation to the after party downstairs - and waits by the door. As her hair tumbles down in the moonlight, he pulls loose the tie that had already fallen slack. Better if they're both comfortable. He doesn't want to frighten her by calling out, and considers waiting for her to return inside. Against a more sober judgement, he approaches. Patience has never been Damon's strongest virtue.

"Running away already?"

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002. save the last dance

Elena had never once had a ball thrown in her honor before, and if she were being honest with herself, it was quite overwhelming. Earlier that evening, she'd been surrounded by servants who showed her various dress options, brushed her hair, and dusted her cheeks with rouge. It had even taken two people to pull the ribbons tight on the bodice of her corset. When it was all complete, however, she had to admit that it looked quite lovely.

The ball, in all honesty, was a blur. Stefan Salvatore escorted her into the room, solely because they were the same age, or at least that's what she assumed. The ball was packed, and everyone seemed interested in her attention. Which only begged the question, who thought this was a good idea? Did no one stop to consider that perhaps this was too much attention for someone who was grieving the loss of her parents?

Throughout the night, Elena attempted multiple times to catch Damon's attention, but she could never get close enough to actually speak with him, let alone anything more. Their eyes met across the ballroom more than once, however, and she always offered him a soft smile, feeling better even just getting a glimpse. For some reason, he made her feel grounded, real.

By the time guests started to exit the room, Elena had drank three or four (she couldn't remember) flutes of champagne. As someone who didn't drink all that much because her parents didn't like it, she was not at all used to the effects. Elena used the exciting crowd to slip out the back and into the garden. Her brain was cloudy and she was overwhelmed by all the people she hardly knew asking deeply personal questions about how she was doing.

Once outside, she strolled along the path, taking in the fresh air under the cool night sky. She put her hands into her hair and begun to remove a few pins, releasing the pressure from her head and letting the curls drop to her shoulders. It was only then that she was finally able to let out a breath.

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The softness in his voice only made her want to reach out and touch him. If only that wouldn't be so incredibly taboo. She felt as if she were pulled out a haze when the servant came across to retrieve her. She curtsied, and walked a few steps away before turning back. "Thank you for the tour, Damon."

"Only some?" Damon asks, but he can't quite focus on the topic of conversation, not when the pink in her cheeks begs to be kissed. "Please," he says softly, mere inches between them, "Call me Damon." If only to hear her say it aloud.

A bang from across the courtyard snaps Damon's attention, and he remembers to keep his decorum. A servant runs across the garden, the heavy side door shut tight behind him. Damon listens patiently as the boy announces Elena's room is ready, though he's far from pleased for the interruption.

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She was certain that her cheeks had turned bright red, the color of tomatoes. She'd heard that Damon Salvatore was charming, but she'd never actually experienced it. In fact, she'd never been charmed like this before. "Well, that's very kind of you Mr. Salvatore." Elena met his eyes, "You truly know how to make a girl blush." She took a step in closer to him. "The town has a lot to say about you, I'm not sure where to start. But for starters, they say that you're charming and, of course, devastatingly handsome. It's nice to know that at least some of the rumors are true."

"I thought I asked you first?" Damon winks, glancing between the curve of her lips and the glint in her eyes. There's no denying he's charmed by all of it. "That you're sweet," he says after a beat, taking a few steps closer, "and kind. An upstanding woman of society." He tilts his head, voice lowered to a murmur as though the thought had only just struck him. "Perhaps it was intentional no one has mentioned how beautiful." It was a dangerous piece of information for a man of his disposition.

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If it was possible, she blushed even more. "Have you? What does Mystic Falls have to say about me, then?" she asked, raising a brow at him, her lips pressed together to keep herself from smiling wide, the corners turned up. It almost felt bad to feel happy in that moment.

"I'll take you at your word," Damon smiles, "But I'd be remiss to say I hadn't heard a few things about you., too"

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Elena's cheeks turned pink and she looked away to hide it as she felt the warmth creep over them. "Oh, no! That's not what I--" she laughed a bit, then smiled, riling her confidence to look back at him. "Okay, fine. Perhaps I've gossiped about you a little. Only good things, though."

"Is that to say you've gossiped about me, Elena?" Damon teases, raising one eyebrow expectantly. His reputation did have a habit of preceding him. He just hoped nothing too unsavory had made its way to her circles.

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Why on earth did she let go of his arm? Now all she could think about was how much she missed the warmth of him nearby, how she felt slightly colder as soon as she stepped away. But she took the handkerchief and dabbed the corners of her eyes. "I'm not certain those words exist."

Miss Gilbert. It made her skin prickle. She walked back over to him, and glanced up, immediately getting lost in thought. How was she supposed to think when he was there? She got her words out somehow. "Please, call me Elena. And besides, I was hoping that you would have some ideas. I do hear that you're the fun brother. Or perhaps the gossip is untrue?"

Against his natural inclination, Damon keeps a polite distance when she steps away. A crush already? Not very gentlemanly, he reprimands himself. He produces a clean handkerchief from his pocket, offering her the silk cloth for the welling in her eyes. "If only I had more words to console you," he says apologetically, but at this point in the war effort, death was all he knew.

"Tell me, Miss Gilbert," he shifts to a lighter tone, "What kind of excitement might that entail?" Croquette, painting, fencing, if she enjoyed gazing at the moon he had half a mind to pull it down for her. "We have a whole day ahead of us before your welcome dinner."

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She almost pulled her hand away at the shock of his skin on hers. It felt like a shock, the warm and the gentleness. It made her breath catch, but she didn't move her hand. Her eyes flicked up to meet his and as he spoke she could feel the sting of tears in the corners of her eyes. Everything had happened so fast, she'd barely had time to grieve before she'd been whisked away to what felt like another world entirely.

"So many have offered their condolences," Elena said, casting her eyes downward, looking away from his piercing blue ones. "Somehow, Mr. Salvatore, you're the only one who seems to mean it." She offered him a soft, sad smile and slipped her hand out from under his and off his arm. She drifted away, looking at the fountain and the flowers. She leaned forward to smell one of the hydrangeas, then looked back over her shoulder at him. "Though I am glad to bring some excitement to your lovely home."

Damon smiles warmly, leading the way. They wander toward the quiet edge of the courtyard, where the hydrangea bushes are in full bloom. "I want to offer my condolences," Damon says serenely, touching his free hand to the top of hers as they walk, "I can't begin to imagine what you've been through, losing your parents." They stop near the fountain, the rush of the water loud enough to keep outsiders from listening in. "Though I am very pleased you accepted my father's offer to stay here. It's been a long while since we've had a woman in the house."

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This was all so overwhelming, all of the people fawning over her, taking her bags, speaking to her. Certainly, she had only heard half of what was being said to her. Then, she saw him. Maybe that was cliche to say, but he really did make her stop, having to collect herself. Damon. Years and years ago, when she had been too young to avoid town events, she'd met him and his brothers once or twice. And while Stefan and Theo remained vague outlines in her mind, she remembered Damon, all charm.

At his welcome, she curtsied again. "It's a pleasure," she said, her voice soft amidst the chaos. "Thank you--" She turned her attention to his father, dragging her unwilling eyes away from the dark-haired gentlemen who looked down at her with such awe. "--for having me, Mr. Salvatore. I truly appreciate your kindness." She angled her nose to the floor, eyes cast downward.

Staying in such an unfamiliar place, she just wanted to be as demure as possible. She wanted for nothing, needed for nothing, and didn't want to put anything more than what was necessary on her hosts, for they had already done her such a kindness.

At Damon's offering, she hesitated only for a second before placing her hand on his arm delicately. "I would like that very much," Elena said, equally desiring an escape from the growing crowd.

Damon stands on the porch, surrounded by every staff and family member he knows under the hot Virginia sun. He resented the formality in his uniform, and the sweat dripping down his back, but Giuseppe had been clear they were all expected to attend the welcome party. He only had a few days left at home before his company would be on the move again, and he'd much rather spend this time taking some much needed rest. Just before he can open his mouth to offer a half hearted excuse to leave, the rumbling of the approaching carriage over the rocky path directs everyone's attention.

As she steps out from the cabin, Damon can't help but to stand up a little straighter at the sight. His father's voice booms beside him, welcoming the guest with his typical grandeur and introductions, and even little Theo looks on with wonder. Damon hadn't been sure what to expect, but he can't tear his gaze from her as she approaches, doe-eyed, and well, beautiful.

This was Elena Gilbert? He racked his brain, trying to remember when he had seen her last. Founder's Day, before the war maybe? He had been caught up in his own drama then with Elizabeth Fell, and spent the night drinking sorrows away with the Forbes boys. She must've been a child, then, he wonders, barely Stefan's age. Stefan then delivers a sneaky kick to Damon's heel to remind him of his manners.

"Miss Gilbert," Damon removes his cap, clutching it to his chest as he bows in his turn of greeting, "Welcome." He doesn't get to say much else before the butlers are swarming, parading bags and parcels from the carriage into the main house. His father prattles on beside him, and with the mention of a tour Damon is quick to interject himself. "Allow me," he interrupts, taking a half step forward and offering out his arm to the young woman, "I would be honored to show you around the estate. Shall we start with the garden?" Anything to get away from the crowded entrance.

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001. i wish you'd met me in 1864

Elena Gilbert, newly orphaned after a tragic drowning accident claimed both her parents, sat in a lush and luxurious carriage on her way to the residence she would be staying at for who knows how long. For the first time in her life, her future was not laid out in front of her. There were no plans, and if she were honest with herself, it was kind of horrifying. The Gilbert's were a founding family in Mystic Falls, and the connections her parents had made before their deaths had saved Elena from being tossed into an orphanage to rot.

Fortunately, their connections had placed her instead on the Salvatore estate, thanks to the kindness of one Giuseppe Salvatore. She didn't know much about the family, though she was certain she'd met him and his two boys once or twice at events. In the moment, however, it really didn't matter to Elena what they were like or who they were. She simply wanted to meet them quickly before heading to her new bedroom and promptly removing the corset that pressed against her ribs before passing out for only God knows how long.

When the carriage came to a stop, she took a deep breath and collected her skirt. The door swung open, and she was greeted with a servant, who gathered her bags. There were a gathering of men waiting in front of the house, clearly intending to introduce themselves and get to know her better, as a single woman who would be staying with them. Elena's interest was low, at the moment, but if she had to play along--well, she really didn't have a choice.

With her skirts in hand, she curtsied with a smile, looking up at the men before her. They greeted her, and a few women (servants of some kind, she assumed), flocked to her side. This home was definitely more extravagant than what she was used to. But she would make the best of it, as she had no other options.