"I love you, Stefan," she said, gently placing the palm of her hand on his cheek. He leaned into her touch, her skin warming the iciness that had devoured his since that fateful night last October. The ice cold water under the Wickery Bridge seemed to have permanently frozen his body, only to be slightly warmed by the touch of the girl who now stood before him.

She looked up at him, concern showing in her soft brown eyes. "Stefan? Are you alright?"

Her voice bringing his thoughts back to the present day, his eyes met hers, and he forced a smile to show that he was. As he gazed at the face he loved so much, she appeared to be content with his response. She always did; he had grown quite good at faking his happiness.

She lovingly wrapped her arms around his neck, and he tightened his around her waist, holding her close. The embrace felt so right… he tried to convince himself that it was, but while he could fool her, while he cold fool anybody else, he could not fool himself.

Not that he did not try, of course. For that was what he was doing right now. Trying to pretend things were the same. Trying to pretend that he was happy, that he had everything he wanted.

Close enough.

She slowly pulled away, and he released her from his arms. The coldness immediately encompassed his body once more, only remaining where her hands were now placed on his face. "I love you, Stefan," she repeated again, almost appearing desperate to hear him say it back.

"I love you too," he forced his reply, forcing also another smile.

She gently kissed his lips, smiling sadly as she walked back inside. She stopped for a moment and turned to gaze at him, facing away from her while standing somberly on the hotel balcony that overlooked Paris. The forced smile on her face faded away, and she gazed at his back longingly. A sad sigh passed her lips.

She loved him, and he had finally returned to her after so long apart. But she was not what he wanted, and she knew it. Even if he tried to pretend. Even if she tried to pretend. Even if he faked smiles and told her he loved her, and she continued to believe.

Close enough, she thought bitterly.

All he wanted, all he needed, all he could ever love again was a certain beautiful young woman. A young woman who had large brown eyes and an olive complexion. Who had long brown hair cascading down her back, who had a smile that could light up a room. That loved him purely, irrevocably, and unconditionally.

Two women fit that description. But his love could only be returned to one of them.

Unfortunately, she was not the one standing ten feet away from him, a single tear rolling down her flawless cheek and cascading into her curls. She was the one who had drowned under the Wickery Bridge that late October night.

No matter how hard Katherine Pierce tried, she could never replace Elena Gilbert.

She could only be close enough.


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