A/N: Sorry for being cliché!
… …
For his defense, he didn't call her for three years. Three years without giving in. Except for this one time when he called from another number, not saying a word but only listening to her as she says 'hello' twice. He remembers it well, her voice, the way his heart sank down and his brain went numb, the way his fingers shook and went cold for ten minutes after. He remembers it. And it was enough for him, no it wasn't. But he lived on it for the next two years.
But then, it has been six months since his scar had opened. And for the first time he started to think that maybe it was over, maybe he didn't have to run again.
He thought about finding her.
But he knew it would be selfish. After what he had done, he doesn't deserve it.
So he calls her. He is alone and desperate and his apartment feels nothing like home. He knows it is wrong, to appear out of the blue after three years. But he misses her.
God, he just misses having her around.
He swallows as he waits, holding his beer in one hand as he clutches his phone with the other.
She doesn't pick up. So he lets out a breath and takes another sip from his bottle. Later on that night, he falls asleep on the couch after three bottles.
It is not like someone will get him to bed.
… …
Second time he doesn't see it coming, the choice to call her again. Because first time was a mistake and it was good that she didn't pick up. But here he is, sitting on a bench in front of the beach. It's sunset and it is beautiful, not like it used to before. Because now sunsets are only a reminder of his failure, reminding him that everything good has an end.
But it is still beautiful, just like her.
He had noticed that everything reminds him of her, maybe because he never forgets her.
It goes to voicemail this time, and he holds his breath for good three seconds. He thinks about saying nothing and going home.
"Hey." It comes out in a sigh. As if his tongue had betrayed him and took the matters in his hand. "So uh, I guess you're busy, or you're just ignoring me… or maybe you changed your number." He pauses as he actually considers it. "Let's just pray that it doesn't belong to some old grumpy man." He chuckles.
And it hits him that the first time he laughs in years is when he calls her.
"So, uh…" He sniffs to steady his voice a bit. "I just… wanted to hear your voice… it's okay… I guess… I'll uh…"
Call me.
He holds it back and nods to himself, as if she would get it.
He doesn't go home this night; he just falls asleep on the bench. It is not home anyway.
… …
He dials her number with a big goofy smile. He glances at the book in his hand before putting the phone next to his ear.
It's voicemail. Of course.
"Hey, what's up? You know today I found this book." He pauses as he chuckles. "The one you were too angry with its ending, turns out that our version was missing the last two pages." He laughs again.
"I just read it and believe me, it makes more sense, I'd tell you about it… but I know you'd kill me for spoiling it." He smiles down. "Just read it, you'll love it."
"Turns out there are happy endings." He nods before hanging up.
The sight of him cuddling a book while sleeping is completely out of character for Stefan Salvatore, but he doesn't even know it.
And again, it's not like someone will see him.
… …
His phone is between his shoulder and his ear as he kneels down to open another drawer.
The kitchen is literally a disaster, nothing in its place. He is completely shocked, because he had mastered cooking and knows how to leave everything like it was.
"Hey, So I'm trying to remember what was that thing you put on top of the cake, you know, that thing that sparkled?" He says as he moves to another drawer. "It's not like I'm having a party I just… today is kinda important."
He stands still, wonders if she knows that it's their anniversary. In the beginning he didn't know what date he should choose, the day they first met, or the day they became friends, or the day they kissed, or the day they had their first time, or the day they had their real first time.
In the end he settled for the day she told him he will find love again.
"If you want a hint, I'm putting five candles on the cake." He smiles but it doesn't reach his eyes.
"Call me."
He is about to hang up when he hears the line doing that little thing when the other person takes the call. He puts the phone on his ear again and waits.
He holds his breath, but he knows that his heart is exposing him.
"Stefan?"
It's not beautiful, and it doesn't feel like fireworks, and he feels anger building inside him. Because it's not her.
It's Enzo.
He swallows, his sight is already blurred and he feels his blood boiling.
"She's not near you?" He asks and he doesn't even have the time to think how weak his voice sounds.
"She's in the shower." He tells him.
"Okay." His voice is cracking but he hides it quickly. "Tell her I called."
It's more of a question because she doesn't belong to him anymore and there's a possibility that Enzo doesn't want to tell her.
"I will." He says in instant.
He doesn't sleep this night, not even a second. He sits on the floor of the kitchen, his back leaning against the wall. His eyes are staring at the cake on the floor while his hands clutch to the five candles.
He doesn't notice when the sun rises and he doesn't notice the tears. He doesn't notice the blood coming out of his hands after digging his fingers into its skin.
He notices nothing.
No one does.
… …
He doesn't call her the next six days.
But then he does. It's not a slip, it's a plan.
When it goes to voicemail, he's not surprised. It's sticking to plan actually. The only thing out of plan is being drunk.
But didn't he put the plan while being drunk?
"Heyyy, so… I knew that I had to do this at some point, but being the idiot I am… I stalled." He scuffs.
"I'm sorry." He whispers. "Not just for… but for everything. And I don't know if you'll believe this or not but… I didn't want things to go this way."
"I never did."
"I'm sorry." He sighs. "I'm sorry for being another failure, I'm sorry for breaking your heart."
"I think the only way to console me- not that I deserve it but... I'm happy that you've moved on." He lies.
"It's good that one of us has."
He nods to himself before closing his eyes. He doesn't know what else he should say, so he hangs up.
Hours later and he didn't move from his chair, his head now resting on the kitchen counter and he feels the sunlight hitting his head.
He's tired and lost and his eyes red and just want to close but he won't let them. He stares blankly at the wall before hearing his phone ringing.
And it feels so strange because no one calls him anymore. For a moment he doesn't even move. But then his eyes notice the shape of her name. 'Caroline' written on his screen.
A smile is already on his lips as one tear falls from his eyes to the cold counter because he hasn't moved yet.
He puts it to his ear and hears the silence. Three seconds pass before hearing her once again.
"Hello?" She says.
… …