His hand is on her hip, eyes snapping wide with panic, the previous night's activities nothing but a blur of memory. It's too soon, this. Him and her. Sharing a bed. Post, um, well... Her hands clutch at the sheets, bringing them up to her chest, biting her lip as he shifts.
Thankfully he doesn't wake, a small sigh of content, calming him back to sleep. His hand is still there, and she doesn't think there's anyway of removing it without disturbing the slumbering beast, gaze locked to the phone that mocks her from the nightstand. It's distance from her hand just out of reach.
He said he'll wait. But this is hardly waiting. Or was it her that made the first move? A distinct possibility considering, all the alcohol involved, and god why does he have to be so hot when he smiles? Why does he have to seem to happy whenever they're together? Why does she have to notice all these little things?
Smiling, that she does remember, and shots. So many shots. Did her head fall to his shoulder? Did she feel his lips atop her hair? It's a dream against her eyelids, but the feelings are all too real. She can see these things happening, because they most likely happened, as sure as the sensation of his face still resonates upon her fingertips.
Instinct says to run. To leap from this bed and ignore his calls for days afterward because... Because. They're not ready. She's not ready. It's a mantra that has made it possible to resist him being, well, him. Stefan Salvatore, her best friend, the love of her freaking undead life.
It would be so easy, just to roll over, to kiss that spot just under his chin before tucking her head there and rejoining him in dreamland. Before she knows it, that's exactly what happens, kiss and all, head settling comfortably between his neck and shoulder.
His other arm wraps around her shoulder, and she can't help the biggest goofiest grin from spreading on her face, goosebumps rising everywhere.
"Hey," he says into her hair, one syllable muffled heavy with sleep.
"Hey," she replies, a finger teasing along his stomach, taking delight at how his skin jumps at her touch.
"So, last night happened," he continues cautiously.
"Sure did."
"Any thoughts on that?"
She shakes her head against him.
"Caroline-"
"Tell me you love me," she says quietly.
His hand is still around her shoulder, fingers playing with her hair, and somehow she can feel the courage building within him. The kind of he must have reached for when showing up on her porch that night. The list of reasons that his life has changed for the better because of her.
"I've been alive for almost a hundred and seventy years," he begins. "And I don't think I've ever wanted something so much more than this, here, you and me. When I say I love you, I don't mean it in some fairy tale decoration. I don't love you because it will redeem me. Or save me. I love you for selfish reasons. I love you because you make me happy, and I think I'm long overdue for a little happiness."
She kisses the spot just below her lips.
"I wish I could believe that."
"Yeah," he replies, fingers still toying with her hair. "Me too."
Somehow, she manages two whole weeks without seeing him. Not on purpose, mind you. Not entirely. She just concentrates on classes, and compartmentalizes emotions, Stefan a fleeting thought in the few free seconds of her day. It doesn't count as living her life without him, when they communicate in sporadic fashion. Because texting isn't talking, and two minute phone calls are hardly considered conversation.
It's the tiniest tether, neither one of them taking a step forward, but just the same never letting go.
Her phone goes off, as the barista hands Caroline her chai latte, Stefan the psychic wonder knowing exactly when she's thinking of him. Finding a bench just outside the shop, she sets the drink down beside her, rummaging through her bag for the elusive device.
The smile on her lips is automatic, seeing his name lit up onscreen, a small giggle escaping her because low and behold the boy does occasionally have a sense of humor. Sharing a random video of a cat tending goal in some crazy hallway hockey game.
Seriously? She types in reply, simultaneously reaching for her drink again and blowing cautiously. Internet cat videos?
It takes a couple minutes for his response.
Don't lie. You laughed.
She sips her drink, types a one word retort, and throws the phone back in her bag with the intent of not allowing the conversation to continue.
It's two days into week three, of not seeing him, when she rounds the corner to find Stefan perched in front of the door to her room. Her mouth drops open, footsteps coming to a halt, unsure if this is overstepping any boundaries they've never actually discussed. Quickly covering up her surprise, she moves toward him, her mind instantly going to opposite end of the spectrum as to his reason for being here.
"Is something wrong?" she asks.
"No," come his reply, the vowel elongated for effect. "Why would anything be wrong?"
"Because impromptu visits among our group of friends are usually the result of a crisis."
He actually laughs, and ugh, there's his whole hot when smiles thing again. She opens the door and slips inside, leaving it ajar for him to follow, which he does without hesitation.
"Then to what do I owe the pleasure?" she asks over her shoulder, dropping her bag onto the bed, keeping her back to him as she deposits her keys atop the dresser.
When she turns around, he's right there, so close all she has to do is lift a hand and she'd be touching him.
"Stefan," comes out almost breathless, saying his name just say something.
"I miss you," he says softly. "When you're not around."
Damn he's good. Words dripping with sincerity, matched easily by the look in his eyes. This isn't waiting, she thinks, not for the first time. This isn't living her life without him, again. But then there's kissing, touching, and fumbling back toward her bed.
All good, good things, she can't see any reason to put a stop to.
Is this what we do now? She wonders. Is this what we are? People who love each other at a distance? Lovers when it's convenient? These thoughts come to mind, with her cheek against his chest, as her fingers play along his skin. It's impossible to not keep touching him. When it's quiet and she can admit this is all she wants. Him and her. She and he.
He's dead asleep, but she moves to kiss him anyway, taking delight in the way his eyes flutter open to her.
"Tell me you love me," she whispers.
There isn't a second's hesitation.
"I lo-"
But she doesn't let him finish, claiming his lips with her own, making him express it in other ways.
Morning comes and she's freshly showed, primped and primed, strapping the shoe into place on her foot all while Stefan still dozes quietly in her bed. It's not an unwelcome sight, and something tells her it is one she's going to see a lot more often. A smirk plays at her lips, the idea that this will continue, one she doesn't find altogether disagreeable.
Rising to her feet, she slings the bag over her shoulder, and moves to grab a stack books piled on top of the dresser.
"Hey," she whispers into Stefan's ear, leaning back when he stirs.
"Hey," he echoes sleepily.
"I'm off to class, are you going to be here when I get back?"
For a moment he seems confused by the question.
"If you want me to be," he answers.
She kisses his cheek and heads for the door, leaving the possibility to linger on the air.
He reaches for her hand, the act so casual, she doesn't even realize their fingers are intertwined for nearly two blocks. When she does notice, however, her cheeks go warm as she fights the smile threatening to come. Not wanting to give him the satisfaction, that a simple touch could inflict such a burst of feeling within her.
She doesn't pull away either, letting their arms swing in quiet synchronicity, just enjoying each others company on a warm summer day. This is how it's supposed to be, she thinks. No drama. No constant threat of death, or the end of the world. The two of them, feeling like finally, they just might get somewhere.
There's an alcove just up ahead, a beautiful little brick arch that catches her eye, and in a flash she's pushing Stefan into it to kiss him breathless. His hands are still in her hair, when she shifts back, eyes blinking back open in a dreamy daze.
"What was that for?"
The question is practically rhetorical, because both know damn well there needn't be rhyme nor reason, to either one of them wanting to kiss the other lately. She doesn't bother with an answer, instead taking his hand again and leading him back down the street.
"Tell me you love me."
He just squeezes her hand.
It's all she really needs.
There is no grand declaration. There are no labels applied. She is his, and he is hers. Anyone can see that. Bonnie does in particular, a single brow arching upward when they walk into a the grill together, laughing about something unimportant. Damon is at the pool table, and Stefan breaks off for a game, Caroline heading for the table her friend is perched at.
"What?" Caroline asks, face like a kid with her hand in the cookie jar.
"Nothing," Bonnie replies.
Caroline doesn't buy that for a second.
"What?" she insists.
"It's good to see you happy," she says, eyes wandering over to the brothers and their game. "It's about time, actually."
Caroline dips her chin to hide the smile, but only momentarily, looking back up to to Bonnie's expectant grin.
"That obvious, huh?"
"You're a billboard," Bonnie assures. "Hello, world. I'm in love."
Caroline taps her fingers on the table, contemplating.
"Have you said it yet?" Bonnie asks.
Caroline shakes her head.
"Has he?"
Caroline nods.
"I kind of make him," she replies.
Bonnie makes a face.
"Yeah," she laughs. "I bet you really have to twist his arm."
Caroline looks over to the Salvatore's, vampire hearing picking up all the smack talk knocking around a bunch of plastic balls generates.
"You really haven't said it back?" Bonnie asks, following her look.
"No."
"What's stopping you?"
"I don't know."
Bonnie sips her drink.
"You will."
How long? She wonders. Will they be able to keep carrying on like this? Rainbows and unicorns. Butterflies and lilacs. To have him, truly have him, and yet somehow keep expecting the bottom to drop out. For him to wake up beside her and suddenly realize she isn't the one. No matter how much he reassures her. In every kiss. Every look. Every time he says it.
The bittersweet irony that she finally, finally, gets everything she ever wanted and has no freaking clue how to deal with it.
He senses the shift in her, because of course he does, Stefan knowing her better than anyone these days. Better than anyone ever, most likely. Insightful enough not to push, the control freak inside screaming bloody murder and gnashing its teeth, he spots it somewhere behind her eyes and gives safe distance.
It's good. Even when it feels like she's losing her mind, just having him around, within arms reach or a text alert away.
She loves him more than three simple words could ever convey. Maybe that's what she hasn't said it yet. Because she can see a hundred years down the road and know, without a doubt, he will still be there cradling her heart with both hands. That in a few short years, what they have built with friendship and trust, can stretch on for eternity with hardly an effort.
Perhaps the problem is, she hasn't been a vampire that long. Though surviving pain and torture that would have easily killed her human self, a benefit of the undead condition she's actually experienced, the idea of so much time at their disposal fails to register because she simply hasn't lived it yet.
"Someone's got her serious vampire look on," he says from behind, his voice shaking her from thought.
"What?"
"Or is that your hey, it's Tuesday, look?"
"Funny," she deadpans.
"Sometimes."
"Think you're clever? Throwing my words back at me?"
He shrugs with an easy grin.
She might have loved him then. Even if there was Matt at the time. Then Tyler. But he were always there, wasn't he? When she needed him. When she had no one else. No, that's not right. Maybe even before. In a dingy carnival bathroom, thinking her life had come to an end, being right in some aspects but wrong in so many others. Stefan with his compassion and promises. With towels to clean the blood she had spilled. It's that moment, she knows now, that she would love him forever.
"Stefan," she starts, but he interrupts.
"I love you," he says, thinking he's beating her to the punch.
She kisses him before she says something stupid.
The road stretches before them. Long, black, and seemingly never ending. It's the kind of obvious metaphor her lit professor would preach, and she could only roll her eyes at, but maybe that's why she got B- in the class.
Stefan's little red car is probably not the best road trip vehicle, but it's fast, them having cleared six states in two days. Summer classes over, she has a whole month before next semester, and Stefan said something about never having been to Portland. Next thing she knows, bags are packed, and they're heading west.
She's never been further than Chicago, and part of her can't wait until they pass it, to see places beyond the old boundaries she found herself clinging too. Staring out the window, she can feel the happiness begin to overtake insecurity. The realization that he isn't going anywhere, that they aren't going to fall apart on a whim, a truth she recognizes more and more.
They stop at a ridiculous motel somewhere in Nebraska. The kind with mirrored ceilings, heart shaped hot tubs, and two complimentary bottles of horribly cheap pink champagne. She doesn't even want to touch anything at first, but Stefan assures her that they could smell anything unclean, but in her mind the filth doesn't have to be literal. Still, when he gets that spark in his eye, she doesn't resist the fall onto satin sheets.
After, she rests her forehead between his neck and shoulder, he with both arms wrapped around her. They lay in comfortable silence, breathing each other in, and despite the surroundings she can't remember a time of such utter content.
"Hey," Stefan says into her hair. "Tell me you love me."
She does.