Today has been one of those days. Stefan finally shuts himself off in his room after long hours of wrangling his grieving older brother. Following him from bar to disgusting, crowded bar to make sure he didn't tear someone's throat out. Which he, amazingly, didn't. Not today anyway. But what he did do was shatter a beer bottle and bury it into Stefan's stomach as punishment for "babysitting" him as he called it. Bonnie had taken over after that. Everyone was pretty confident that Damon wouldn't hurt her. Stefan has his doubts, but he wobbled off toward home anyway. He just wasn't feeling today. He was ready to be done with it.
Stefan's shirt reeks of spilled cheap beer and fried bar food. He sticks a finger inside the tattered hole made by the glass that had earlier cut his stomach, but now only the tear in the shirt and the bloodstains remain. He pops each button free and tosses the ruined shirt haphazardly across the room. He watches as it lands momentarily on the back of a chair before sliding unceremoniously onto the floor. The clock reads 10 PM but it feels like the middle of the night. He'll probably just go to sleep anyway, because why not. He glances at his phone as he falls heavily onto his bed, no missed calls, no texts, no Caroline at all today. It's one of those days.
The exhaustion he feels is senseless. He can't be this tired. He isn't even human. But he is truly tired. Down to his bones. Deep in his veins. He almost drops back onto the sheets, before he remembers the blood on his skin and the filth on his jeans and boots. Sighing heavily, he pulls himself up, toeing off his sticky bottomed boots, peeling off his jeans. He drags himself to the shower, setting the water hotter than usual and letting it burn his skin, willing it to wash away the day. Wash away the blood and the stink and the abuse. Wash away the heavy nothingness.
His mind wanders to Caroline, if you could even call it wandering back when it never steps more than a foot away from her at any give time. When will she call? When will he see her? The uncertainty was eating away at him a little more every day. Putting the control completely in her hands had seemed like the right thing to do at the time. It was what she wanted and needed so he handed her the reins willingly.
On days like this, though, he regretted it. The urge to either run toward the happiness he knew was waiting for them, pulling her unwilling behind him… or run away from the pain she was causing him was overwhelming. Running was easy for him. But standing still…waiting…he couldn't have imagined how hard it would be. He had called himself a patient man. That was before. Before he had a ghost of her taste in his mouth, a map of her body burned onto his brain.
Water runs over his face and he closes his eyes as he wraps a hand securely around himself. It's depressing but he's been at least half hard for most of the day and it's only making the day longer, more difficult to get through. A physical reminder of how alone he is. So he proceeds to take care of the problem. And it's empty and it's nothing, but it's getting the job done. The images that come to mind he doesn't summon, but they come none-the-less and they aren't a surprise.
A knock on his bedroom door across the hall startles him and he pauses in his movements to listen. Another knock. He removes his hand and lets out a shaky breath. He can't even have this one thing. It's that kind of day. There's really only one person it could be and where he expected to feel panic or excitement, he feels an even heavier exhaustion. Because he's one big open wound today and she's just outside the door and ready with the salt. He turns off the water, not bothering to dry off and wraps a towel loosely around his waist.
Steam follows him from the bathroom as he opens the door to meet Caroline waiting outside of his room. She looks at his state of disrobe and has the decency to look embarrassed, turning her eyes toward her own feet.
"Hey," he says, his voice as casual as he could possibly make it. He brushes past her and opens his door, walking into his room. She waits outside.
"Hey," she says from outside the cracked door, "I just came to check on you. I heard what happened with Damon. Bonnie told me, and well…I just wanted to make sure you were okay. And I haven't talked to you in a while, and I've been meaning to call. Anyway, I just wanted to check on you to make sure you were okay."
She's babbling. Stefan listens as he pulls on sweatpants and a v-neck, which stick uncomfortably to his wet skin. His hair is dripping dark spots onto the gray fabric of his shirt. He runs a towel across it once, which only serves to slow the dripping, not stop it. He wraps the towel around his neck. She has stopped talking.
"Come in," he says, a tremor of annoyance in his voice that he wishes wasn't there.
She pushes open the door and walks in shyly. It pisses him off. How she's tiptoeing around him. This is her fault. He's tired and she's exhausting.
"So are you?" she asks, stepping closer to him, worry and sincerity all over her pretty face. She cares so much about him. It just makes it all worse.
"Am I what?" he asks, making a pile of his discarded clothes and wet towel.
"…okay?" she repeats, laying a hand on his bicep to still his movements and catch his attention.
She's too close. He wishes she wouldn't get so close. It isn't fair.
He chuckles and lifts his t-shirt to show his damp, unmarked stomach, "You came all the way over here to see if I was okay….from a little stab wound?"
Caroline's eyes rake across his stomach and she smiles and pulls her pink bottom lip between her teeth. She's doing that thing she does. And sometimes he's desperate enough to like it. But today isn't a good day and he hates it. He drops his shirt back down to cover himself, walking to his bed and turning down his blanket.
"I'm fine," he says over his shoulder, with a coldness and finality meant to send her on her pretty little way for the night. To get her beautiful, caring face out of his eyes and her sweet, flowery smell out of his nose.
"Are you tired?" she asks, not leaving.
He glances at her as he picks up his pillow, mashes it around a bit and drops it back onto the bed. She's wringing her hands together like a goddamn wife whose husband is being shipped off to war or something equally as theatrical.
"Yes," he says.
"Are you tired of waiting?" she asks immediately, looking up at him.
And his heart and stomach do a little tumble. It feels like more than nothing, better than anything has felt all day and he doesn't hate it.
"No," he lies.
"You can be," she says, granting him permission to feel what he was already feeling. And he doesn't want to, but he happily accepts it and feels lighter because of it.
"Okay, I am," he admits, "I'm tired of waiting. And I'm just….tired. Today…hasn't been a great day," he says, and it's all true and it feels good.
He clicks off his lamp, throws off his shirt and climbs in bed without looking at her. It's rude, but he's too exhausted to care.
He lies waiting, listening for the sound of her quietly cursing him, shoes angrily clicking out of his room. He promised to wait and then said he was tired of waiting. She hates him. He hates everything today.
The sound doesn't come. Instead there's the sound of her kicking her shoes off toward his pile of dirty clothes, her bare feet padding across the floor toward him, the creak of the bed as she lays down next to him atop the covers.
"I'm sorry," he says.
"For what?" she asks and her voice sounds farther away than it is.
"Not wanting to wait," he says, the relief of finally resting and having Caroline next to him chasing away all of the heavy nothing.
"Do you think I want to wait?" she asks, and she sounds perturbed, like there was something he wasn't getting.
He doesn't answer for fear of answering wrong. The sheets are cool and his muscles are losing their tension.
"I have bad days too," she says, and he gets it. It's hard on her too. He would soothe her, but he's tired and he's waiting.
"Are you staying?" he asks at risk of scaring her off, because he has to know, can't handle the weight of even one more little piece of uncertainty.
"For a little while," she says, a queen fancying herself kind by doling out pennies to the peasant. He doesn't like it, but he'll take it.
The silence and darkness settles over them like a layer of dust. His limbs feel like they're floating and he's almost crossed over to subconsciousness, almost crossed this day off his endless calendar.
"Stefan," she cuts through the silence.
"Hmm," he mumbles.
"I knew you were okay, I just wanted to see you," she admits it like it's some great sin and he can't help but smile. He's glad it's dark.
"I'm sorry you had a bad day," she adds, before rolling onto her side away from him.
He loves her and it's fucking misery most days. But today isn't one of those days, it turns out.
"It's not so bad," he whispers, and he knows she can hear him. He's exhausted and he falls asleep before he has to watch her slip out of his bed. He falls asleep knowing that he just has to wake up and do it all over again. Take care of a brother that doesn't want his help, stay away from a girl that he wants nothing but to be near. And it's exhausting before it even starts. But he'll do it again and again day after day with only the promise of nights like tonight to keep him going. Because eventually one of those days will be the day he doesn't have to wait anymore.