Disclamer: I do not own The Vampire Diaries. You know that, by now.
Summary: In peculiar circumstances, Caroline stumbles upon an unexpected demonstration of Stefan's love. One shot, based on "Little Things" by One Direction.
Little Things
She stumbled on it by accident. When she opened his cupboard and caught a glimpse of what looked like a picture album, she was unable to help herself. He would have shaken his head at her, she thought. The corner of his mouth would have turned up in an adorably exasperated smile, and he would have shrugged, grumbling something along the lines of well, now that you've found it.
She tiptoed to grab at it, and found that the cover felt rich under her sensitive fingertips. She retrieved the large album and felt her heart swell when she recognized his elegant handwriting in the planes and curves of her name. E, it read.
Almost immediately, it conjured the memory of the many times her name had rolled off his tongue, soft as a caress. The precise melody of it, as it was spoken secretly, echoed in her mind, causing her eyes to fill and her heart to bang against her ribcage. Her lips trembled. She kept her eyes open to push away flashes of forest-green orbs.
"What is this?" she whispered to herself.
She hesitantly strode out of the room, the album firmly tucked under her arm. She briefly made eye contact with Damon, who offered her a friendly nod when he noticed the album. She paused, frowning slightly, but no word came. She silently held up the picture album for him to see, and he answered her unspoken question with a sad smile. The fragile balance she had reached threatened to break, and the simple contact of Damon's palm on her cheek restored it.
The blonde nodded and walked to the only place she'd feel comfortable discovering this. She sat on the ground, oblivious to her white coat becoming stained by dirt. She pulled her knees to her chest and rested the album on them for leverage. The desire to open it was nearly as strong as the fear. Whatever it contained, it had the power to crush her, to turn the hole inside her heart into a gaping, bleeding wound. But she needed to open it – she needed to spark a contact with him, if only so artificial. She longed for these pieces of him he had left for her to find. It would be as if he was sitting there beside her, instead of being so far, so out of reach.
She studied the first photograph carefully, trying hard to remember when he had taken it. Everything remained obscure in her mind, but it was ok. She watched her fingers, easily intertwined with his above a satin sheet. The first time you stayed the night. The shadow of a smile formed against her lips at the sound of his voice. It mattered little that he was not really here, that she was imagining it. Delusions of his presence were better than the harsh reality of his absence.
He had drawn words at the bottom of the picture, a kind of caption. Your hand fits in mine like it's made just for me.
Her eyes feverishly browsed through the pictures, the comments. Sometimes, it would be a picture of them together, and just a word; or a collage of small details with a plethora of poetic praise. I know you never loved the crinkles by your eyes when you smile, your stomach or your thighs, the dimples on your back at the bottom of your spine but I love them endlessly.
Before she could help herself, she began to imagine him, leaning over his desk in concentration as he did his best to find the right words for her. She could see his frown as clearly as if he was sitting in front of her, and the vision was so adorable that she found herself smiling goofily. In this moment, the only reality that existed was that of this album, of Stefan's words, of what his eyes saw when they looked at her.
It was a safe haven. A place to hide from the hurt, a place where she was free to dwell on the past. Most of these pictures had been taken without her noticing. Hard as she tried, she couldn't remember seeing him with a camera; his taste for technologies stopped at his phone and computer. But he'd taken many pictures, dozens, in fact.
Her, in his bed, holding a steamy cup of tea. Maybe that's the reason you talk in your sleep. These conversations are a secret that I keep though it makes no sense to me. Her, soundly asleep, her limbs spread messily on the bed.
She giggled when she saw a series of snapshots he'd taken of her singing at the Grill. He had recorded her performance with his phone, and she'd turned a vivid shade of crimson when he replayed it for her. You've never loved the sound of your voice on tape. Nonsense.
More pictures, of her squeezing into her favorite jeans, of her pouting at her reflection in the mirror, of her covering the faint freckles on her cheeks with makeup. You never want to know how much you weight but you're perfect to me.
"You didn't have to do this," she said softly, her voice met only with the sound of the wind blowing. "I love it. Thank you."
Maybe one day you'll love yourself like I love you, she heard him say. The blonde looked up with a shy smile, a light blush covering her cheeks. Her heart swelled further, if possible, as she turned to the final page.
She blinked, her hands clutching the album stronger. The tears in her eyes seemed to dry instantly, almost as if her body needed her to have the clearest perception of what she sensed could have been a defining moment of her existence, had she found this earlier. When they still had time.
I'm in love with you and all your little things.
"St-Stefan, wh-what is—" she began.
Caroline knew Stefan so well that she could see how his fingers had trembled slightly. A chuckle that sounded like a sob passed her trembling lips when she noticed the small diamond ring he has taped to the bottom of the page. She studied it with the greatest attention, appreciating its perfectly round shape, and the thousand sparkles of the stone. The sapphire was blue, but it turned a beautiful shade of bluish green when it caught the light. She watched it dreamily, grief flooding her eyes and leaking onto her cheeks.
Marry me? He'd written.
She slid the symbol of their love to her ring finger, and brought her lips to the cold marble gravestone. She squeezed her eyes shut as the wind blew violently. Behind her eyelids, she saw his face as it was last time she'd seen him. Defiled by dark veins and grayed in death.
"Yes," she choked. "Yes. Yes. Yes."
She had Mayor Lockwood produce the legal documents, with a little help from Damon's easy compulsion. The blue-eyed vampire humored her when she asked that a line be added to Stefan's gravestone inscription.
Beloved husband.