He is sitting on a leather sofa in the library of his own house and watching snowflakes crash into the glass of a window. They're flying way too slow, and it is irritating him.
Everything is irritating him lately. The way people breathe and the way their hearts beat. Every time he passes by a human on the street, he wants to rip their heart out, right there. He wants to plunge his fangs into their artery and suck all of the blood from their body, to poison himself with red liquid which is an elixir of life. He wants to steal the air from someone's lungs because he feels like his air has been stolen, even though he does not need it for over century already. What irritates him even more is how almost every person on the street wears her face. But every one of those faces is an illusion cruelly woven by hands of faith.
They're not here, neither of them. He is all alone on Christmas. Not that he cares, because after a century and half, Christmas means nothing to him anymore. When he was a human, especially a child, he used to love Christmas. House was especially warm in that time of a year. Mother used to decorate the house as she wished, every year different decorations she usually made by herself, and after she passed away, house simply lost that special warmth she used to bring to it. But still, Christmas was time when even father's strict lines on his face became cheerier, and when him and Damon did not get into arguments. His favorite part including Christmas, when he was a child, was snow fight him and Damon would organize. And later, when they grew up, they would sneak out of the house and walk to the town where they would loose themselves up in the nearest pub.
After his mother died, and his father became someone he barely recognized, Damon made his Christmas better. But this year, he decided to spend it with someone else, other than him.
He did not know where him and Elena went, and he did not want to know. He did not want to know anything, because his vivid imagination would press every cell of his brain and make his pain double.
He poured himself another glass of scotch. It was his fifth glass. Or maybe tenth. Could be more, could be less, he stopped counting when he felt scotch circling in his organism, pressing on his brain like a heavy burden.
Does it even matter how many drinks he had? Nothing matters anymore.
Merry fucking Christmas.
"You know, your wrinkles are showing, I guess all that brooding you do finally took its toll," he heard a voice coming from behind him. A familiar voice, voice that instantly warms him from the inside, and makes his head spin. He turns around and sees Elena, dresses in her trousers, black top and blue sweater, her long hair sprawled across her back, leaning against one of the bookshelves.
She's wearing the same thing she was wearing when she died. When he had left her to die.
"Now I'm hallucinating," he says out loud as he turns his head around and locks his look back on the window. Maybe he had one drink too many.
He closes his eyelids and places the glass on the table next to him. Maybe he could sleep on it. Maybe he could sleep for the whole week, so when he wakes up, it will be like Christmas never happened. Well, for him, it's not happening either way.
But the scent of humanity makes him open his eyes. And in front of him there's Elena, with her hands placed on her hips, frowning.
She's an illusion, but she seems so real. She feels so real. She reeks of humanity, and he loves it, he would like to revel in it. Her scent is so pleasurable for his nostrils, it tickles the back of his mind. She looks like Elena, she smells like Elena, but she's not Elena. Elena is gone, in more ways than one.
"How are you here? You're - "
"Dead?" she interrupts his sentence with a smirk on her face. "Yes, I remember the part when you left me there and saved Matt instead," she cocks her eyebrow in his direction, "You know, you should have told me you felt that way towards Matt, I would have stepped down."
Her words slice him like a vervain covered dagger, and he lowers his look down, because he's sure if he keeps on looking directly at her, tears will fill his eyes. And he's tired of crying. He's tired of everything.
"Too early?" she asks, "I thought we would be able to joke about this now," she exhales loudly, but all that comes out from her throat is a white smoke which freezes in the mid air and shatters before either of them could notice it.
She waits for his response, but he does not even raise his look from the ground.
"Hey," she says as she makes few steps towards him and puts her hand on his cheek. Her touch is so cold he flinches. He looks at her arm, her pale, veiny arm, and out of some reason, he can't turn his look away. "You did a right thing Stefan. You did what I asked you to do. You always did, which is why I loved you until my last breath," she responds while pulling her hand back from his cheek.
"You're dead," he states, like he's only now realizing it.
"Yes, I am," she responds, only to confirm his statement.
"Why are you here then?" he asks, only because seeing her breaks his already broken heart. Can a broken heart break again? If anyone could do such a thing, it's Elena Gilbert. He wants her to stay as much as he wants her to go away.
She sighs tiredly. "I do not want you to be alone for Christmas," she lowers her look, playing with her fingers, "No one should be alone in Christmas," a broken smile appears on her face as she lifts her head a little. "You see, where I am, it's terribly lonely, and cold. I'm stuck, unable to move, I'm watching the world through a muddy window. I watch myself through all the stains," she furrows her brows as she mentions herself, "Or what's left of me," she corrects herself.
"If you're not on Earth, and if you're not in Heaven, where are you?" he asks, his voice cracking, as well as his heart, because the thought of her being lost is too much to handle.
She shakes her head. "I do not know," she replies with a husky voice, locking her eyes on his. "But there's a lot of us there. Some of them are there for centuries already. They told as we can leave today, so I came to you. You were my first thought, my only wish. I guess the damned get to celebrate Christmas too," her voice becomes teary before one tear finally rolls down her cheek.
Elena. Her name tastes so sweet on his tongue. Her name coursing through his mind is the most pleasant thought he had in a long time. Seeing her here, standing in front of him, pains him as much as it brings him joy. He wants to hug her, but he can't. He wants to kiss her, but he can't. He wants to make love to her, slowly, gently, all night long. He wants to taste her salty skin and hold her in his arms, make her revel in sin and pleasure as he touches her most sensitive spots. But he can't. Because this Elena is only a ghost of the woman he loves and the woman who loved him back, and the real deal chose to be with someone else.
Elena. The love of his life. His soulmate. The other part of him. Ying to his yang. Missing piece of the puzzle.
She makes few steps forward, and when his look finally wanders to her face, she smiles at him and sits on his lap. Carefully, she leans on to him, burying her face in his neck, his chest close to hers. She can feel his hard muscles pressing next to her delicate, fragile body. His body is stiff under hers. She puts one of her arms around his neck, and whispers into his ear, "I'm cold. Could you please warm me up?"
After all this time, holding her in his arms feels so natural, like he's holding her from the beginning of time, and like he had never let her go. He puts his hands on her back and starts pulling them up and down her back, trying to warm her up. He does it like he never stopped doing it, like this is his purpose, and like she was in his arms only few seconds ago. But she wasn't. It's been days since the last time he held her. Weeks. Months even.
He came to realize, no matter how much time passes, he will never be able to wash Elena off himself completely.
"Better?" he asks, still pulling his hands all over her back, while she kept her face buried in his neck, playing with the hair on the back of his neck with her fingers.
"Much," she says, and he can feel her hot breath on his skin. Suddenly, her skin seems warmer too. He looks at her other hand, free one, which is sprawled across his chest, and he can see her color is back.
And then, he feels it. A slow beat rising into a strong and loud one. He can feel it against his chest.
"I can feel your heart beat," he says, stopping a little after every spoken word. He can hear it too. Healthy, strong heartbeat, the one she used to have. The one he used to listen to during the silent nights they spent together. Sound is still buzzing in his ears.
Elena lifts her head up from his neck and smiles. "Yeah, that happens sometimes, when I'm thinking about you," she looks down at his lips, and before he knew it, she lowered hers on top of his, and gave him a small peck on the lips. Nothing big, or passionate, or long, but exactly what he needed. The taste of her lips, the taste he's been missing so much. Just a little, so his needs would be satisfied.
"Do you remember last Christmas?" she asks as she detaches her lips from his. She looks at him, and he's already smiling at her. Of course he remembers. He remembers everything, every waking moment he had spent with her.
It was snowing so hard, last Christmas. Snow was reaching their knees, they could barely walk. There was no one outside, everyone were locked in their homes. Stefan was afraid she would get a cold if she went outside in this weather, but she wanted to enjoy the snow on Christmas so badly. And Stefan was known to meet with her every need and wish. So he made her put hundred layers of clothes, which he later regretted, and they went outside. She fell numerous of times, disappearing in the snow, but she enjoyed herself, and he enjoyed himself by watching her enjoy herself. Finally they found a clearing where they could walk normally, so he took her hand into his, and they walked around the town until she started shivering.
He took her home. His room was so warm. She took her wet clothes off, and while he was filling the bathtub with warm water, she lit candles all over his room. He waited for her while she had her bath.
And then, they made love. Once. Twice. Maybe five times. Who was even counting? He only remembers how warm she felt and how hard she was clinging on to him, and she remembers very well how she couldn't get enough of him.
"The snow," she says, and he knows she misses it. He wants to give the snow back to her. This time, he would let her go outside in her undies if she wanted to. This time, he would be better, more deserving. If only he had another chance, he would make things right. He would make her happier. "I remember I was so wet from it," she giggles, "Even my underwear."
He smiles at her and puts a strain of hair behind her ear. "I remember," he says, because he does, he vividly remembers that night.
Blush comes to her cheeks. "Do you remember how long we were in bed that night?" she asks, her big brown eyes locked on his, glistening, "For hours, if I remember correctly," she raises her eyebrow at him suggestively. "But do you know what was my favorite part?" she asks, like she's about to discover a great mystery to him.
He shakes his head, his full attention centered on her, because he knows she won't be here forever. And he wants to bathe in her whole being.
"How you held me afterwards," she told him something she never did when she was alive, regretting it now. She should have told him, maybe he would have held her more often.
"We were lying in bed and watched the snow fall through a window," he remembered, "And when I wanted to pull the curtains over, do you remember what you told me? You told me to leave it, to - "
"Let it snow," she interrupts him in the middle of his sentence when she remembers her exact words. "I told you to let it snow," she smiles at him.
He smiles back at her before his look drops and he leans his forehead against hers. "My human Elena," he whispers, "Are you really gone?" a tear falls down his cheek. "Are you still somewhere inside your body?"
"Always," she responds, tears streaming down her face as well. "Well hidden, but still there, you only have to find me," she throws her hands around his neck and pulls him even closer to her. So close their noses are touching and their lips scraping against each other. She wants to hold on to him forever because she knows, soon, her time will pass, and she will feel cold and lonely again. She will have to go back to that dark place, and she doesn't want to. She wants to stay with Stefan.
"But you're not mine anymore," his own words break his heart a little bit more.
"Oh Stefan," she exhales tiredly, "Don't you know, no matter who I'm with, you will always have one part of me no one else has access to? I could fall in and out of love million of times with million different people, but I could never stop loving you," she expresses her love for him in a way she never did while she was alive, and now she regrets it, because if she did, maybe this version of herself could love him more, too.
He presses his lips against hers as he puts his arms on her back and pulls her closer to him.
The clock ticks midnight.
"Stefan," she detaches her lips from his as she says his name. He looks at her, scared, and she points down with her eyes. He looks down at her feet and they're.. they're gone.
"Elena, what is going on?" he asks desperately, trying to hold on to her.
"It's past midnight, so technically, it's no longer Christmas," she explains with a painful smile on her face, "Which means I have to go back."
His eyes grow wider as her legs disappear too. She's falling apart like she's made out of ashes.
"I promise to you, I will find the cure, and I will bring you back," he tries to hold on to what's left of her, but before he manages to look up, her arms are gone from his neck.
"I love you, Elena," he says as he watches her torso disappear.
"I love you too," she whispers, her voice is heavy like she's trying to catch her breath, like there's no enough air in her lungs. Once again, he presses his lips against hers, and before she disappears completely, she manages to say, "Until next Christmas, my love."
She's gone.
There's no evidence of her being here.
Her smell, her taste, her touch, everything is gone, every trace of her being here tonight.
No evidence but a shattering memory and one broken heart trying to beat out of a dead man's chest.
AN: I wanted to write a happy Christmas update, it really was my intention. But I couldn't. Because today, I could not force myself to be happy or hopeful. So I decided to honor a couple I loved. Couple I love. Hope you enjoyed it, even though it wasn't all fluff, and rainbows, and puppies.
Have a Merry Stelenamas and happy holidays.