THE news of Micahs death had been the final blow to Damons heart. A reminder that despite his immortality life was indeed short. There was not one moment of peace since he'd seen Micah ascend in the first as a Grimm to a reaper.

Whoever reaper Micah would be, Damon had no idea. All he knew now was the tethered love that kept him from switching off his humanity and tearing the world apart by the storm currently brewed inside him. It's shrouded in pain and ice and shards of weapon forged from sorrow and love and loss.

No one knows how long it takes for a dead Grimm to be reborn, but all Damon knew was that he'd been the one to strike the final killing blow to take Micahs life. He was gone. dead.

He spent the better part of his morning pouring bourbon after bourbon to sooth the ache in his heart. A stab with MIicahs of sword making him bleed. But his blood wasn't red. It was back as his heart had been. But the pain had been too much when the witch he visited the day before told him it would take several centuries at most before Micah was reborn.

Then Stefan had come to him that same afternoon with a useless proposition. To talk about Micah and their relationship.
Ridiculous.

Damon stumbled into the living room where they all waited. The scoobydoo gang as he had called them as always. Nosey motherfuckers who didn't know how to mind their business. It dawned on him that he was also one of those nosey motherfuckers who didn't mind his business. In fact, he was awarded the most nosey of them all.

"I didn't realise I called a parade in my grief." Damon mused opening another bottle of bourbon from the bar shelf in the parlour streaming with sunlight that reminded him of Micah's attribution of getting things done.

Everything he did, every corner of his life reminded him of Micah. Even the black leather jacket he wore smelled like Micahs pine and strawberry scent. It was murky and fruity. Just as Micah had been.

Stefan spoke up first, his voice already an annoyance to Damon. "We still think talking might help, Damon. You might get some closure."

Damon rolled his eyes as Elena nodded. "I'm getting closure right now." He raised the bottle of bourbon to his lips. "Cheers to talking."

He walked to the front door, staggering. Caroline speed before him, taking the bottle from his hand. She raised it to her sight, her brows raised.

"Wow." The half bourbon shocked her, not that Damons everydays drinking wasn't a shock in total. "You're talking or we'll lock you in your torture dungeon."

Danon mused in a way Micah would have liked. "Lock me?" He laughed at her threat.

She nodded. "Yes. Now go to the couch and start the story of how you met Micah."

He sighed at the appeal. It didn't sound half bad. But here is the kicker. Micah was the talker in their relationship. He was the one who could cry and talk about his feelings, about how his days went and how his depression was crippling. Maybe. Just maybe he would feel better. Maybe the hole in his heart would shrink rather than widen.

"Fine. Only on one conditions."
"Name it."

"My bourbon and no questions." He pouted like a child.

Caroline laughed. "That's two conditions."

— OPALESCENT REWRITE COMING MARCH BC 2025; FOLLOW MY WPTOK; Mikaelsxnwhorr.wp