fic: here is my hand, my heart (the vampire diaries, caroline/stefan)
title: here is my hand, my heart
fandom: the vampire diaries
characters: stefan salvatore, caroline forbes
pairings: stefan/caroline
wordcount: 1212
rating: PG
disclaimer: i don't own the vampire diaries or the title, which was stolen from a richard siken poem.
warning: i wrote this. also, second person narrative.
notes: can be considered a prequel to calling you home but both can be read independently. it's not like there's much of a plot. regardless of the lack of any plot whatsoever, there shall probably be sequels. i have no secrets, only dirty shame.
summary: in which caroline graduates (again), stefan shrugs and plans are made.
Every time you graduate, whether it's a high school graduation or a college graduation (they're not so significantly different in your head anymore, when you think about it these days), but every time you graduate, whichever town or country you may have chosen, Stefan Salvatore is always there. (The name is Salvatore, as in savior.)
(Elena can't always come, doesn't always want to come because she's occasionally busy draining people dry with Damon or chasing after Damon or burning other people's houses, houses that'll never be homes again because of her or because of someone else with her face, and Damon, Damon's always there with Elena even when she doesn't want him to be, which is both a tragedy and a comedy, but Stefan, Stefan always comes.) Stefan is your friend.
You keep in touch most of the time --
(I can't sleep, you called him on the phone that one time when you couldn't sleep and he tried to think of a joke to make you laugh, but the only thing remotely funny was his inability to joke and the sound of his soft smile.)
-- and without fault, two days before her graduation ceremony he stops answering your calls (Fuck you, you told him only once, or at least you said that to the voice on the other side of the line telling you there'd be no answer from Stefan, at least not today.)
It becomes routine and this day before graduation is still scary, like all the days before, there's the matter of picking out the outfit, and well, you can't really call Elena (well, you can, that's just a lie,you've tried already, it's just that Elena's not picking up today.) You've even tried Damon, once (you're graduating and someone should be here, goddamnit) but then you changed your mind quickly before he could pick up.
The day before graduation, you can't sleep. This's also become routine.Your gown's hanging in the closet, just waiting to be worn, your shoes have been picked out, black stilletoes, just like you'd always wanted, when you were 7 and you and Elena and Bonnie played dress up in Elena's house with her aunt Jenna, cause aunt Jenna let you try on all her shoes and her dresses any time you wanted.
When you wake up this morning, the morning of your tenth graduation, you can sense him standing in the room even with her eyes closed. (He still wears that same cologne, that reminds you a bit of home and a bit of adventure and a bit of something else that you can't quite name but that's still nice anyway.)
You know, I don't care if you were alive before romance novels were invented, this is still creepy, Stefan.
You've not opened your eyes yet, you don't need to, but you're still pretty sure he's just rolled his, so in the end you do open your eyes while you consider throwing a pillow at him, you should know I need my beauty sleep by now, but he's not here anymore, so you follow the sounds to the kitchen and he's there making coffee. Of course.
You and I both know you don't really think you need beauty sleep, he says, and you can't find it in yourself to do anything but smile at him.
Hello to you too, Caroline.
Why are you here? you ask, because you may be almost one hundred years old but that doesn't mean you can help yourself, not always.
It's a big day, he says and shrugs his shoulders, the hey it's Tuesday look you told him about ten towns ago in a place called Mystic Falls that you once called home still plastered on his face. Some thing never change, apparently.
He insists on taking pictures of you and you make fun of him the whole time but you let him take all the pictures that he wants, and he makes small talk with all your friends, but you're careful he doesn't pay too much attention to anyone in particular, because you're still Caroline Forbes and he did come here just because of you.
There's a party later (there always is) that one of the seniors is throwing (his name is Jackson, he's kind of nice but he also reminds you a bit of Damon so you've never made your move, because some wounds don't heal no matter how much you recreate your high school graduation).
You put your hand on his arms (this is a tested method of convincing people, it is, that is all), can almost feel blood pulsing in his veins, you trace your fingers up and down his arm in what you think passes for a faux seduction attemp and you tell him there's really nothing he can do to get out of going to this party with you. He sighs. You smile.
You both go there and he dances with you for as long as you say you want him to and this is almost all you've wanted for this graduation. (Or more than you've wanted, depends on where everyone's standing.)
Later, when it's more quiet and you're back in your apartment, you're standing on the balcony together. You've taken off your stilettos, and he's a lot taller than you now, and he's taken off his jacket, and you immediately make a mental note to tell him he looks good in white shirts while he walks out out of the balcony to get the bottle of wine from the kitchen.
I'll miss you, you tell him while he's pouring the wine in glasses. (White, so it doesn't remind him of blood. You only ever have white wine when he's over.)
He says nothing, only nods in acknowledgment and takes a sip of the wine you poured him. He sits on the bench you've put on the balcony, facing east, so you can watch the sunrise when you choose to. It's barely midnight now, and the sky's black, save for the Moon.There'll be no sunrise soon, but it's still nice to sit here, you suppose. You're standing and looking at Stefan sitting on your bench looking at the Moon and you think it's beautiful, all of it, and he's beautiful too. You wouldn't want to sit down and ruin that picture if it wasn't for the feeling stuck somewhere between your stomach and your throat telling you that the only thing you wanted now, more than to watch him, is to sit by him, so you do.
You're sitting next to him now and while you're putting your glass on the floor he doesn't look at you, at least not that you can see it, but his hand finds yours and you're surprised that this does not surprise you, that Stefan Salvatore holding your hand is something that passes as normal.
“Let’s go somewhere,” he tells you then. You’re not sure if he’s just suggesting it or begging or demanding or all of these things, but you’re sitting with him your hand in his and you don’t even think to ask any of the questions you think you would usually ask (when, why, where, how, and why again), you just nod instead and exhale. You are doing this.
“I thought you’d never ask.”