He never wanted to move ever again. He wanted to stay on that couch until forever ended, no matter how long it would take. Maybe eventually the pain in his dead heart would be overruled by the pain in his entire body, maybe the hunger would numb the rest. It was funny, really. It seemed after so many years, the tables had turned.
Finally Stefan was able to taunt him instead of the other way around.
The drink in his hand launched itself into the fire and then the bitter tears sprung into his eyes and everything just – burst loose. Because all this time, he had hoped so badly that things mattered, that he mattered. Through it all, he had never stopped hoping. All he wanted was to matter. But now he knew: he didn't.
He was not worth saving and he was not worth loving. He was not worth anything.
It had always been Stefan. And it would always be Stefan. And knowing this, he just didn't feel like it anymore. Whatever life he held onto, just – slipped away. The only fire left was the one in front of him, crackling under its hot breath and waving from left to right in a careless matter that reminded him of the younger human years. Times where nothing mattered.
Instead of letting the numb take over, he decides to let the grief do its job. And so, he mourns over all the little things. The love he never got from his mother, the disappointment from his father – like his drink in the fire, he was the fuel for hatred.
The thought of continuing was just not an option. It was enough – he could see that. And so, he got up from the ground and waited until the sunshine began to seep through the dark curtains. He let the ring slip from his finger and patiently placed it at his feet.
And then he waited.
