Elena and The End
Title: Elena and The End
Pairing: Stefan/Elena
Rating: PG-13-ish
Word Count: 414
Author's Note: Written for softly_me's TVD hiatus ficathon. The prompt was 'in the confusion and the aftermath, you are my signal fire'.
Sometimes, in the moments between the crunch and the kill, when his head is awash with more, more, more, and his bones feel tight and his body strains at a bleak joy… sometimes Stefan thinks of Elena and the end.
The way he left her - a slim string of words and barely a getaway kiss - he wishes he'd given her pieces of himself - he wishes he'd given himself away -
I want you. I need you. I've sucked the marrow out of so many girls your age.
He runs. Anywhere but here. And sometimes, in the moments between the crunch and the kill, he thinks there will never be an end to this - the body endures, after all. (This body, and the one after that, and the one after that.)
But he knows - hopes - in that wide-eyed, tugging way that children know-hope, that there must be.
There must be an end to this and if there is then she is it.
Elena.
He imagines saying it: I'm sorry. He imagines the tears in her eyes. He imagines the uselessness of 'I love you,' and he remembers the first useless time he said it.
The sun was high above her head and she was walking away from him and he was safe in the knowledge that when he’d last seen her face there'd been a smile on it. And so… and so he whispered the words - I love you, like an empty incantation, like a sweet joke, like he hoped that somehow, in spite of all the ways she was different, she was like him - she would like him - like he hoped that somehow she would hear the echo of an exhale at fifty paces and turn around and rush back to him, like he hoped she would hear him and rush back -
Stefan's head reels.
He makes the shapes now - a bloody fumbling on on a nameless girl's skin.
I love you.
His eyes roll back, his body buzzes with warmth. The sun is high above her head and she is walking away from him.
He tries to remember how many days make a week and how many weeks make a month and how many months make a year and how many years are enough for a lifetime.
He hopes - knows - that when he finds Elena, she will find him.
He knows - hopes - that it will not be too late.
Pairing: Stefan/Elena
Rating: PG-13-ish
Word Count: 414
Author's Note: Written for softly_me's TVD hiatus ficathon. The prompt was 'in the confusion and the aftermath, you are my signal fire'.
Sometimes, in the moments between the crunch and the kill, when his head is awash with more, more, more, and his bones feel tight and his body strains at a bleak joy… sometimes Stefan thinks of Elena and the end.
The way he left her - a slim string of words and barely a getaway kiss - he wishes he'd given her pieces of himself - he wishes he'd given himself away -
I want you. I need you. I've sucked the marrow out of so many girls your age.
He runs. Anywhere but here. And sometimes, in the moments between the crunch and the kill, he thinks there will never be an end to this - the body endures, after all. (This body, and the one after that, and the one after that.)
But he knows - hopes - in that wide-eyed, tugging way that children know-hope, that there must be.
There must be an end to this and if there is then she is it.
Elena.
He imagines saying it: I'm sorry. He imagines the tears in her eyes. He imagines the uselessness of 'I love you,' and he remembers the first useless time he said it.
The sun was high above her head and she was walking away from him and he was safe in the knowledge that when he’d last seen her face there'd been a smile on it. And so… and so he whispered the words - I love you, like an empty incantation, like a sweet joke, like he hoped that somehow, in spite of all the ways she was different, she was like him - she would like him - like he hoped that somehow she would hear the echo of an exhale at fifty paces and turn around and rush back to him, like he hoped she would hear him and rush back -
Stefan's head reels.
He makes the shapes now - a bloody fumbling on on a nameless girl's skin.
I love you.
His eyes roll back, his body buzzes with warmth. The sun is high above her head and she is walking away from him.
He tries to remember how many days make a week and how many weeks make a month and how many months make a year and how many years are enough for a lifetime.
He hopes - knows - that when he finds Elena, she will find him.
He knows - hopes - that it will not be too late.