Her warm breath tackles his neck gently and he smiles in his light sleep, wondering what day of the week it is.
He softly rides his fingers up and down her bare arm, kissing her forehead and she snuggles closer.
The sunshine has entered the room through the white curtains of her bedroom, and that's when he feels hot tears on the crook of his neck.
He frowns, looks down and her big blue eyes are open, filled with tears that don't roll down.
"Come back to me." She whispers.
He opens his eyes and turns to his right – she's no longer lying beside him, all he sees is black wood.
He turns to his left – he sees the same.
He tries to sit gustily, but his head hit the lid of the coffin (is that where he is?) and he goes down, breathing hardly-
Breathe.
Breathe.
That's when he realizes.
Water, water everywhere.
He starts to shout, yell, scream, but he knows that no one hears so he just lies there, slowly starting to drown, drifting to sleep.
(I won't die.)
He hears her laugh and he joins, staring at the orange sky and clouds, the sun going down.
"Oh my God, it's such a beautiful view, Stefan." She says, sighing.
He looks down at her and her expression changes; tears are rolling down her cheeks as she whispers:
"Come back to me."
He opens his eyes and it's not orange sky anymore – it's black wood.
He screams again, to the orange sky, to home, to golden girl.
But nothing comes to rescue.
(I won't die, I won't die.)
He needs to fucking feed.
All he can think about is human, veins, blood, blood, veins, human.
He's hungry, he's so hungry.
"I won't die."
It's slowly becoming his mantra, really.
But maybe – maybe – he is dying?
He wipes her tears again away as they lay on the beach.
Warm sand slips through his hands, her hair and she buries her face in his chest.
He feels his eyes watering up.
"Come back to me." She repeats.
How long has he been here?
He feels his clothes torn apart, wet and softened because of the water.
He's cold, but he shouldn't be.
He's hungry.
He's so, so tired.
His body is stiffened; he's so weak he barely can open his eyes.
(I won't die, I won't die, I won't-)
He keeps repeating, but he doesn't' see any sense anymore.
He thinks this is the last time he opens his eyes.
This is the end.
That's how his story goes – he should have known he won't get the happy ending.
"Caroline." He blurs out and that's the last thing he remembers.
Is that sunlight on his face?
He feels it; he can't bring himself to open his eyes.
Is he dying?
He feels a hot tear on his cheek, but it's not his.
A soft hand touches his face and he leans into the touch, groaning.
(I'm not dead?)
"Stefan." He hears her whisper.
(He doesn't know, really, maybe it's just his imagination.)
He prays it isn't.
He wakes up again when he feels a drop of blood on his tongue.
His eyes snap open but he doesn't see anything, he just lets out a moan of pleasure, begging for more, more, more.
He feels blood entering his body, veins, heart, head, brain, everything.
Once he is fed up, he focuses his eyes and he sees her wet golden hair, blue eyes, staring at him.
He lies beside the lake, the coffin is crushed and he never was more pleased to feel sand under him.
"What the fuck were you thinking?" She asks suddenly, snapping at him.
He just smiles, and tugs her down.
"Thank you so much." He whispers into her hair.
She's surprised, but she doesn't say anything, just put her arms around him.
"You're welcome."
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