When Stefan left, it was as if the world had collapsed. Chaos and revelations ensued, and as things feel apart, Elena found the eye of the storm: a merciless and cruel savior.
It was the way he danced, putting decades of styles into one song. She'd laugh as he spun her, and she'd be free of her inhibitions, if only for a moment.
The way she would look up and find him watching her. He'd smile at her before looking away.
The smile never reached his eyes, and it saddened her.
The way they'd be talking – standing too close – and one of them would say something wrong (or maybe just right), and they'd both grow silent. Then, his eyes were still sad, but there was something else there, something Elena both feared and craved. She wanted him to look at her like that, though she never bothered to question why?
When she'd wake to the smell of eggs and the sound of sizzling bacon. She'd go downstairs to investigate, and he would look up from his cooking to grin and say, "Morning, Sleepyhead," sometimes adding, "You look terrible" just for the sake of comedy. She would sometimes make a joke. "You like my jammies," or "My bed-head is sexy."
She no longer made those comments, though, because she didn't like the way the smile would fade from his eyes.
Jeremy teased, saying they were domesticated. He pointed out a few things: the bourbon she kept in the house because he always complained that they had nothing for the adults to drink, how she'd sometimes pour him scotch and serve it with a raised eyebrow (she didn't exactly approve of his alcoholic tendencies; though, she never mentioned that it made her worried), the way the two would bicker over anything and everything (according to him, it was just pent up sexual frustration), and the way she would clean up after him, and he would cook her meals.
One night, she was at his house and had lost track of time writing in her journal. She looked up at him as he read.
"Don't stare," he drawled. "You might give me the wrong idea."
The world didn't make sense, or if it did, it wasn't an ideal world. Bad people have power, and good people get hurt. Blood is shed, madness is released, and pretense is skipped. No one is innocent anymore, because innocent people get hurt.
"I'm going to sleep here," she said.
He looked up at her.
Maybe it wasn't the end of the world. Maybe it was good that Stefan left, that he stopped caring. She had Damon.
Damon Salvatore.
The Beast was about to be released, her intuition told her that much. She knew she should be afraid.
He looked up at her, and that something in his clear blue eyes was back. The passionate intensity.
As Elena stretched out on the couch, she felt his eyes on her. Chaos was about to hit.
After all, the eye of the storm is still that – a storm – and it was time for pretense to be skipped and for true feelings to be revealed.
This time, Elena was ready.