a/n: so yeah. i've been getting a lot of mattlena feels lately, and i couldn't resist. honestly, i don't believe anyone will ever love elena as purely as matt does. sigh. they are sweeter than sugar, i swear. i hope they get more scenes in season 4 and strengthen their friendship, a few kisses here and there wouldn't hurt either, heh. this is all over the place, eh. story title comes from boats and birds by gregory and the hawk.
you'll be my star, i'll be your sky
Matt's never minded the silence.
He's always welcomed it, ever since he was a child. He remembers banging on Vicki's closed doors, telling her to turn that atrocious death metal music off, remembers asking his mother if she could please speak a little quieter, because there's no way he can concentrate on his homework with the sound of her gossiping resonating off the walls.
Most of the time, they'd oblige, and a small smile would cross his face, visibly at ease with only the sound of their light breathing surrounding him.
That was before his sister died and his mother bailed and he was left all alone.
Now, there's nothing to distract him from his own thoughts, nothing to distract him from drowning in guilt (metaphorically) because he should be dead from drowning (literally), but he's not, and it's at the cost of the life of the one girl he never wanted to hurt.
He can't help but think that, not only did he hurt her, he practically killed her.
He keeps himself busy to avoid being left alone with his own mind, does anything and everything he can. He rearranges the living room furniture, donates old clothes to Goodwill, paints his bedroom three times, and makes it his personal mission to keep his house spotless at all times.
He washes dishes, and he scrubs at his hands, scrubs until they're raw and pink and he can see skin peeling off from some places. He winces as soap comes in contact with flesh, but he keeps going, thinking that this miniscule pain is a small price to pay for the fact that he should be dead.
But he's not, and Elena is, and oh god Elena─who has Jeremy and Stefan and Damon and Caroline and Bonnie and fuck. Everyone loves her, including himself, and he killed her.
Like every time, Matt turns off the faucet and decides that however long he may scrub at his skin, it will never be clean enough, and Elena's humanity will forever be imprinted on his hands, in every breath he takes.
Oh god, she's dead.
Tears mingle with the soap and blood on his hands, finishing off his masochistic routine.
He hears a knock at the door and swats hastily at his cheek. He debates whether or not to answer, and decides that he doesn't need to add being a recluse to the extensive list of his wrongdoings. He steps forward and turns the knob, ignoring the pain that cripples his fingers as they come into contact with the cool metal.
"Hey."
It's Elena, and she's standing, very much dead, but not dead and looking more vibrantly beautiful than he remembered, eyes swimming with affection that he doesn't deserve. She looks a little paler, he notices, but other than that, there's no reason that should lead him to believe that she's any different from the Elena that he used to play in the sandbox with.
"Matt, say something."
Other than the fact that she can't come nearer with an invisible barrier keeping her outside. Matt shakes his head and turns his back to her, busying himself with wiping down his kitchen counter.
"Come in."
Out of the corner of his eye, he can see her foot pass through the threshold of the door, stepping into his kitchen. He probably should've been more wary about allowing her entrance into his home, but this is Elena, and against all the odds, he hopes that she's not lost to him.
He practically feels her eyes burning holes into his back, and decides that if being introduced to vampirism means that Elena wants revenge for her transition into one of the undead, then so be it.
"You must hate me, just like Damon does and Stefan's pretending not to."
He imperceptibly flinches at the memory of the elder Salvatore's hand around his throat, squeezing and squeezing until there were spots blurring Matt's vision. He let him; it's not like he could've stopped him if he tried, but that's the point─Matt didn't try.
"She never wanted this─and now she has to go through with it because of you," Damon had growled. "Through making sure she lived despite her martyr tendencies, you're the one she died for. Give me one good reason as to why I shouldn't kill you right now."
He stayed silent, accepting the punishment, and he kind of hated Stefan when he blurred in front of his brother, pulling his hand from Matt's throat. He saw the guilt in Stefan's eyes, the blind fury in Damon's, and thinks his eyes must have portrayed a little bit of both.
"Damon," Stefan chastised, "if you hurt him, then Elena will have died for nothing."
Damon's nostrils had flared, and he turned without so much as a backward glance. Stefan tried to smile at him, but it came out looking more like a grimace, and Matt excused himself before he could start telling him how Elena was doing, or how she was adjusting.
She wouldn't have had to adjust to anything if he hadn't drugged her, hadn't swerved, hadn't been saved.
"Matt, no, why would you think that?" she responds fervently, as if the mere suggestion is something that baffles her to no end. His fists clench at his sides at the adamant display of sentiment in her question. "And they don't hate you; they're just irrational when they're angry."
He turns then. "Angry because you died to save me! Me!" He can't help but yell, and if this wasn't a serious situation, he might've laughed at how she flinched and took a step back as he got nearer. The vampire shying away from the human? That's like a kitten's meow being stronger than a lion's roar. "Elena, I wouldn't even be on the poster ad promoting the supernatural chaos that happens in Mystic Falls and you gave up your life for me; for the high school quarterback that takes extra shifts wiping down tables at the Grill just so he can pay his electricity bill every month. You should've just"
"Don't you dare finish that sentence, Matt," she interrupts vehemently, and his eyes widen marginally when he sees the faint outline of spidery veins begin to crawl out from under her eyes. She breathes deeply until her fangs are no longer protruding her lower lip and looks at him with an expression so soft, it completely contradicts her very nature. "You're my friend, and you and I, we have history. If I could go back, I wouldn't change a thing."
Anyone would be a fool to doubt the sincerity of her words, and his lower lip trembles. He recalls her face, so murderous, so terrifying, and not for the firstnor the tenth, nor the hundredthhe wishes he could take her place.
"Elena, I'm so sorry," he whispers, gaze trained on the floor. She steps forward, tilting his chin up with her index finger, thinking the fact that he didn't jerk away from her touch should count as a small victory. She wipes away his tears gently with the pads of her thumbs, and if she thought his expression couldn't possibly grow any more solemn, she was dead wrong. "What can I do? I'll do anything to make it better. Just please, there has to be something."
She hears the desperation in his tone, the anguish brimming his vacant baby blues. Her undead heart clenches at his plea, and she feels tears beginning to build in her own eyes. Matt is the best person she knows; he's the epitome of everything she'd want in a man, and everything she, herself, aspires to be. A part of her heart is still reserved solely for him, and she can feel her chest aching, yearning for his smile.
Then again, ever since the night her parents' car drove off of Wickery Bridge, yearning has become second nature to her. Now, being a vampire, every single inkling of her personality has been magnified; which means she's more than willing to ask him something she would've never dared to utter out loud if she still had a heartbeat.
But she's dead, and can truthfully say she has nothing else to lose, so.
"Can we pretend? Pretend like the past year and a half never happened, and we're still together, and our biggest problem right now is what we wear to prom?"
The silence that engulfs them after the words leave her mouth is deafening, and she never tears her eyes away from his face, absentmindedly fiddling with the hem of her shirt.
"I─" he hesitates, thinking of Damon and Stefan and how saying yes would be certifying his non-existent death wish, but then her eyelashes lower and he pretty much hates himself. This girl gave up her life, her dreams, her future, just so he could live, and he has the nerve to deny her anything? Dignity be damned, he thinks. "I hate to tell you this, babe, but you can't wear red. Caroline already called dibs, and if you show up wearing the same color, I'm afraid it's gonna turn into war."
Just like that, with a few simple words, he's managed to change her mindset. She's no longer Elena Gilbert─vampire slash Petrova doppelganger, but she's Elena Gilbert─sixteen-year old girl helplessly in love with the bluest eyes she's ever seen.
Her smile threatens to split her face, and she can see the color of Matt's irises become livelier as the seconds tick by.
"Then I'll wear blue, so I can match your eyes."
He smiles, and the way he can practically see stars in her eyes lets him know that he's kindamaybesorta still hopelessly in love with her. Oops.
Their relationship was never tumultuous; it was the easiest love they ever had, and it came to them like breathing. Of course, when they broke up, they were both sixteen, thus meaning that the amount of couple activities they participated in was sorely limited. Everywhere except the bedroom, Matt thinks crudely, restraining the urge to smirk at her as he redirects his thoughts in a more appropriate direction.
"Wanna watch a movie?"
Elena chuckles, sprinting towards his movie rack at human speed; they have roles to play, after all. She comes back to him, eyes wide and innocent as she hides her selected film in her hands behind her back. He raises an eyebrow at her antics─obviously, she forgets who she's dealing with.
"Elena, you're nothing if not predictable. I know that both my Batman movies are in your hands."
She pouts, revealing Batman Begins in one hand and The Dark Knight in the other. He smiles smugly and she flicks his ear. "No fair; you know my love of Christopher Nolan's films knows no bounds."
He sticks his tongue out at her, taking the movies from her and placing Batman Begins into the DVD player. "Yeah, well, it's not every day that a cheerleader and perfectly suitable candidate for prom queen admits that she's a Batman nerd. Seriously, I'm starting to think you should be enlisted in a twelve-step program for this shit."
He can't help but laugh at the memory of him discovering the multitude of comic books, video games, and films in the back of her closet. He'd been flipping through one of the comic books when she walked in, eyes wide as she snatched the possession away from his hands. He laughed, clutching at his stomach as if it was going to burst, and when he noticed the the rosy hue to her cheeks due to embarrassment, he pecked her on the nose and asked her to put the video game in the PlayStation while he went out to get them snacks.
Needless to say, he'd gotten laid that night.
"Hey, that's totally plausible!" she defends, effectively taking him out of his pleasant rendezvous down memory lane. She's sitting on the couch, arms crossed over her chest, and she raises her chin defiantly. "It's practically everybody's dream to go to Comic-Con."
"'Lena, you're a bigger superhero freak than I am, and that's saying something."
She gapes. "What happened to us being a forever judgement-free zone?"
He raises his hands in mock surrender, unable to keep the mirth from his eyes. "I'm not judging, I'm just stating facts." He tosses the remote to her, and he momentarily freezes when she catches it at vampire speed. She realizes what she's done and her apologetic gaze makes him decide against penalizing her. "I'll go get the popcorn, and before you ask, yes, I do have M&M's and yes, we can merge the two. You are such a weirdo."
She grins, absentmindedly noting that he seems to remember all her little quirks. Her grin quickly turns into a frown when she realizes that Stefan or Damon don't know about any of them; they don't know that mango is her favorite flavor of frozen yogurt, they don't know that she has a scar on her elbow from fighting with Caroline when they were little, they don't know that the teddy bear that always dominates the center of her bed was a three-month anniversary present from Matt.
Between them trying to keep her alive and her trying to keep them alive, there really isn't spare time to discuss those things; they all seem so trivial in comparison that she doesn't even try to bring them up, for fear that Damon will roll his eyes and Stefan will say something along the lines of, "Yes Elena, that's nice, but don't you think you'd be safer if you focused on the plan?"
Don't get her wrong, she loves them. Stefan makes her feel like she's nestled inside a cocoon with the safety that his mere presence always emanates, and Damon's intense gaze makes her soul flare up with a fire she didn't even know she had. Still, there's a part of her that's sure they wouldn't have paid her the same attention if she'd been born with a different face, and against her better judgement, the thought plagues her more than she'd care to admit.
Then there's Matt, who never loved Katherine, or Tatia, or anyone with the same olive skin and doe eyes that she was born with. Only her. Matt, who's never done anything to hurt her, who held her as she cried for her parents, who came over with a bowl of chicken noodle soup when she was sick with the flu during freshman year.
Matt, who's never made her doubt that the love he felt for her was pure.
"So, who do you think would win in a fight between Batman and Klaus?"
His voice snaps her out of her reverie, and she distractedly takes an M&M from the bowl sitting on Matt's lap. She bites into the candy, and she wants to slap herself when she begrudgingly thinks that some O negative would be much more satisfying than chocolate.
She chooses to put her conflicting tastes aside for the time being, for tomorrow, when she needs to focus on not killing people and appeasing to both Salvatores. Right now, the Salvatores don't exist, vampires don't exist, and she deludes herself into imagining the sound of her heartbeat.
It's just Matt and Elena, watching a movie on Saturday night.
The chocolate tastes much better against her tongue.
She raises her finger, tapping against her chin as she ponders the outcome of a Batman versus Klaus smackdown. She can't deny that it'd be a sight she'd kill to see. Metaphorically, of course. Not literally.
Ugh, metaphors were so much easier to use when she wasn't dead.
"Hmm...as much as it pains me to say it, Klaus. Definitely Klaus."
And it really does pain her to say it. So, so much.
"But Batman has the Batmobile."
"But Klaus has fangs."
"But Batman could totally invent batarangs made of white oak wood," he counters, and she purses her lips. Before he can allow a triumphant grin to grace his lips however, she argues.
"Klaus is the original hybrid. He can't be killed."
"It's Batman; I stand by what I said." At her raised eyebrow, he scoffs, completely oblivious to the fact that she's drinking him in, trying to absorb every detail of this conversation for a rainy day. "Need I mention the Batmobile again?"
She can't help the genuine laugh that escapes her lips.
Matt feels as though an unbearable burden has been lifted off his shoulders at the sight of Elena laughing, smile stretched wide, eyes gleaming with exuberance, despite all the obstacles that have been placed in her way. She may not be blissfully content with the way her life turned out, but right now, in this moment, with him sitting next to her, he can see that she's truly happy.
As long as he has the ability to bring that gorgeous smile to her lips, he'll live.
"Thanks for doing this, Matt," she sighs, curling herself into his chest. His hand instinctively wraps around her waist, and she can't help but close her eyes at the familiar feeling of being in his arms. She tries to fight the voice in her head that reminds her of how well their bodies fit together.
"There's nowhere I'd rather be," he promises. She looks up at him underneath her eyelashes, hesitating for a second before pressing her lips to his in a lingering kiss that reminds her of happiness and safety and better days. He doesn't do anything beyond that, and she can't really decide whether that's a good thing or not. "We can't pretend forever, 'Lena," he whispers softly.
It's then that she decides that 'love' will always be synonymous with 'Matt Donovan'.
"Unfortunately," she murmurs into his chest, lacing her fingers through his. She can't help but dread returning to the boarding house the next day, back to being caught in the middle of Stefan and Damon's relentless game of tug of war. It means returning to reality, where she's an eighteen-year old vampire in high school, caught in a love triangle between two brothers who have become the focal point of her existence. "Matt, can I ask you something?"
He nods, his hold around her tightening. "Anything."
"Will you be my real prom date?"
He visibly relaxes and nods, bringing her hand up so he can kiss the inside of her wrist, just like he always used to do when she was fortunate enough to call him her boyfriend.
"I'd be honored, Miss Gilbert."
She relaxes back into his body, eyes glued to his television screen, and he presses his lips to her hair, can't help but think she smells like vanilla and sandalwood with a sprinkle of redemption.
reviews are love.