AN: This is just a bit of Season 3 cheese/fluff (is that even possible?) Just a little bit of S/E. Reviews would be lovely!
Even as they drive farther and farther away from Mystic Falls, Stefan can't escape Elena. Her face is the first one Stefan thinks of in the morning, the last face he sees before he falls asleep. She appears suddenly, turning around corners or dashing across the street, her hair shiny and full, her step springy and buoyant. In crowds he can always make out her voice, the sound of her laughter, her footsteps as she walked towards him only to duck away at the last second. Her fingers caress Stefan's jaw or neck of lips and then vanish, the touch becoming mere fragments of memories, fleeting and yet so tangible that he would think that they were real, that Elena is just went away for a moment and will come back at any moment to take his hand or trace his tattoo. Then the cruel reality comes back and he realizes that the girl on the street's not Elena. It's never really Elena.
Oh, he thinks he sees her everywhere; anytime a slender brunette of the right height and approximate age happens to wander into his line of vision, Stefan instantly becomes more alert, blood pounding and time seeming to stand still, but after a second that fades, disappointment and relief mixing together all at once. Of course the girl's not Elena, didn't even look like her, didn't have her scent or her walk or her voice or...well, the list was endless. They're probably all perfectly nice women, but they're not Elena and that makes all the difference. He wants Elena, craves her voice and laughter, longs for the way her eyes would light up whenever she looked at him. The way she spoke. The way she moved. The way she could make a totally horrible day better just by leaning against him. He misses sleeping with her, waking up with her, kissing her, being with her. He wants her more than anything else.
Yet right now Stefan's dead certain that if he went back to Elena and Mystic Falls, he would only end up hurting her. Oh, he wouldn't mean to, at least not at first; it'd start with a harsh comment, probably something about Elena and Damon because really, those are far too easy to come up with. It would move on from there, with Stefan mixing his desire for Elena with his desire for blood, and although in the past he'd always managed (well, usually managed) to control the bloodlust around her that's sure as hell not an option now. He'd feed on her and realize how much he loved her and decide that it didn't matter how she felt about being a vampire; hell, he'd probably rationalize it in his mind, convince himself that during their separation Elena would have changed her mind about the whole becoming a vampire thing. He'd make Elena like him, not giving a damn about what she wanted, what her own desires were.
So Stefan accepts the poor replicas and ghosts, telling himself that they're the only link to Elena he can have now. She's gone, she's lost to him, and he can never even attempt to get her back, not after what he's done. One day he goes charging into a bookstore after an Elena-double, only to realize a moment later the girl is nowhere near Elena's age or size and really, looks nothing like Elena, and decides that that's it. He has to let her go, he has to forget her. So he follows Klaus obediently into a clothing store, watches lazily while Klaus looks for a jacket and food.
Just like that, Elena's there, a slight pout on her face and holding a basket that's full of clothes.
"It can't just be any pair of jeans," she tells him. "Unlike you, I don't look good in just anything."
Stefan firmly disagrees. He believes that Elena looks good, wonderful, in everything, from a dress to ragged sweatshirts to lingerie. Though he has to admit, he kind of has a thing about her in his clothes, the shirts that skimmed her thigh especially. A serious look on his face, he nods and says, "You're right. You don't look good in everything."
Elena frowns at him (like she cannot believe he's really just said that) and Stefan can barely keep the mischievous smile off his face as he murmurs, "You really do look better in nothing."
Elena blushes warmly and gives him that look, the one that makes him know for a fact that the minute they get back to his place they'll be at it, fucking for the rest of the afternoon and most likely the night, dinner and plans be damned. That is, if they even wait to get home. They're reaching for each other, their lips about to meet when she disappears and Stefan's left alone by a rack of shirts, watching Klaus scouting out their next meal.
After that, Stefan didn't try to forget Elena. Trying to forget Elena is useless, at least for him.
Despite telling himself all day he wouldn't, that it's stupid and foolish and only bound to bring more unbearable pain, Stefan calls her. It's her birthday and he can't help himself, he needs to hear her voice, needs to make sure she was okay.
He listens to the phone ring, half-hoping she wouldn't pick up, despite knowing he wouldn't be able to stand it if she didn't.
"Hello?" Elena answers, her voice tired and weary. It's perhaps the most beautiful sound he's ever heard. "Hello?"
He wants to talk, to actually say something; not anything coherent or special, he just wants to tell her how much he loves her, but he can't talk, the lump in his throat is so great as emotions wash over him, the grief and pain engulfing him.
"Stefan?" she whispers suddenly and everything stops for him, time, movement, thought, everything. "Stefan," she says, her voice hopeful and quiet. "If that is you, I love you- please, just hold onto that. You're going to be okay, Stefan. I love you."
He can't stop the tears, nods in response to her statements. He's unable to speak, unable to do anything except listen to her beautiful voice and think she's alive, she loves me, she's alive, she's okay.
He tries to hold those words close, repeats them in his mind again and again.
You'll be okay. I love you. I love you. I love you.
That night Stefan rests at the hotel rather than going out with Klaus- for some reason Klaus hadn't tried to change his mind or forced him to go; maybe Klaus is just as sick of Stefan as Stefan is sick of Klaus. Stefan stretches back on the bed and closes his eyes; loud music from a party somewhere leaked into the room, eclipsing other sounds and noises, water dripping or doors closing or the TV next door.
Someone's besides him on the bed, her feet tucked next to his, her arm grazing his arm. Stefan opens his eyes and Elena's curled next to him, her hair mussed, her shirt pushed up and showing her stomach, her eyes sleepy and a smile on her face.
"You're staring," he murmurs softly, a smile tugging on his lips.
"I'm gazing," Elena retorts, her smile becoming brighter.
"It's creepy."
"It's romantic."
Stefan stares- gazes- back at her. His eyes trace her face, linger on her lips and eyes, take in the tangled hair and delicate collarbone, go back to her eyes which are so filled with love.
"What's wrong?" she asks and he realizes he's crying.
"I love you," he whispers. "I love you, Elena, I wanted to tell you-"
"I know," she says and grabs his hand. "Stefan, I know. I love you."
"I love you," they say at the same time and Elena's lips press softly against his. "I love you."
Stefan opens his eyes and he's alone on the bed. But he's not alone, not really, Elena's words staying with him throughout the night.
She's with him everywhere.