Fic: tVD. Rebekah/Matt. A story of love.
A story of love | tVD | Rebekah/Matt | 262 words | PG | for nicalyse for the December meme of doom. This is 3 days late, AND I AM SORRY.
It's one of a million parties that year, that eventful senior year in Mystic Falls, the year with the constant daggering and the undaggering and 1920s still yesterday to her. The year with women dressing as sluts and her brothers still being her brothers (occasionally, almost always between bourbon and breakfast, she lets herself forget about Finn), the year with a different Salvatore, if that even matters in the end, and the year with the blonde boy with eyes of blue occupying her thoughts.
It's a party as any other, honestly. Boys gathering around guitars like they invented music itself, with the music not stopping until every song each of them knows has been played at least twice, music not stopping until there's someone sober enough to hold the guitar.
She wishes she would get drunk faster.
Someone is playing Hotel California (for the third time this evening, and it seems like the thirtieth) when he finally approaches her.
She has not been waiting for this the whole evening, she definitely has not.
When he approaches her, she's sitting alone on the ground, back against the wall of the house.
Why are you sad?
I'm not, she lies. But she looks into his eyes and she can tell that he can tell she's lying. He nods along anyway, but sits down next to her. Their shoulders are touching now and she's surprised by how warm he feels.
I want you to kiss me, she says, leans closer to him.
(I want you to love me, she doesn't say.)
(He does it anyway.)
It's one of a million parties that year, that eventful senior year in Mystic Falls, the year with the constant daggering and the undaggering and 1920s still yesterday to her. The year with women dressing as sluts and her brothers still being her brothers (occasionally, almost always between bourbon and breakfast, she lets herself forget about Finn), the year with a different Salvatore, if that even matters in the end, and the year with the blonde boy with eyes of blue occupying her thoughts.
It's a party as any other, honestly. Boys gathering around guitars like they invented music itself, with the music not stopping until every song each of them knows has been played at least twice, music not stopping until there's someone sober enough to hold the guitar.
She wishes she would get drunk faster.
Someone is playing Hotel California (for the third time this evening, and it seems like the thirtieth) when he finally approaches her.
She has not been waiting for this the whole evening, she definitely has not.
When he approaches her, she's sitting alone on the ground, back against the wall of the house.
Why are you sad?
I'm not, she lies. But she looks into his eyes and she can tell that he can tell she's lying. He nods along anyway, but sits down next to her. Their shoulders are touching now and she's surprised by how warm he feels.
I want you to kiss me, she says, leans closer to him.
(I want you to love me, she doesn't say.)
(He does it anyway.)