Damon swallows at the sound of her voice (that sound that he has thought about so many times throughout the years like that would somehow make up for the aching there instead, and it never did), but he doesn't say anything else. Maybe because he doesn't trust himself too at the moment, because he can't manage any of those sarcastic responses (so what is left but more truth than he has ever been comfortable with admitting? Weaknesses, vulnerabilities, hurts, the I love you that is caged in his chest and has been true for longer than he knows

but so much time has passed, and beyond all of his feelings for her, which could never be acted on and could never become anything, he's just missed her, Elena, in a way that is impossible to put to words even if the words are impossibly at the edge of it all). Instead he just tightens his hold on her, hugging her tightly to him as emotion locks up his throat like it's a cage.

And this hour holds more meaning than it ever could.

Damon looks down when she looks up at him. "Just now." And then he shakes his head, Damon Salvatore: avoiding questions since... always. His hand slides up against her arm, and his mind had gone to a hundred million terrible places (trying to find a way to get to her, to do the impossible, the rifts are not controlled by anyone and they know that lesson so well). "Where were you?"