He intertwines his fingers with hers, bringing their joined hands up in the air and planting a kiss on their collapsed fingers. There's some air in the cracks between their fingers, so she has a feeling like her skin is breathing, like every finger has a heart of it's own. She brings her lips closer to his cheek, but she doesn't kiss him, but leaves them lingering against his skin, sunshine probing in between her lips and his cheek. He feels her smile once her lips finally press against his cheek.
She whispers something into his ear, and he laughs. She laughs as well, mostly because his laugh makes her laugh. It's addictive, it's consuming.
She reaches for the knob, twists it around and pushes the door open, dragging him inside of the house.
At the moment she's ready to attack his lips, she hears Jeremy calling for her name. "Elena?" she can hear footsteps coming from the living room only few seconds before Jeremy and Bonnie appear. "I was just about to call you," he says with a husky voice, and her look falls on the white envelope in his hands.
She detaches herself from Stefan, freeing her fingers from his, walking slowly towards her brother. He raises his hand and hands her the envelope which she grabs hungrily, but doesn't tear it open right than instant. Her eyes linger on it, like she's trying to see through it. Her breath is stuck in her throat, making it hard for her to inhale, almost impossible. She swallows hard before she whispers, "It arrived," first she looks at Jeremy, who is as concerned as her, then at Stefan who seems stunned, and then her look falls back on the envelope, "From Harvard."
So this is it. Her whole future lies in this envelope. On this sheet of paper. This is the moment she will find out is she good enough. Has her work been paid off. Were all the sleepless nights studying for various exams, doing projects, joining all those clubs, worth it, or has she spent her best years on nothing.
This is her chance to make her dad proud of her. To put a smile on his face, to make him hug her, pat her on the back, give her a kiss on the cheek and say she turned out to be everything he ever wanted her to be.
This is the moment she finds out does she succeeds. Or fails.
"Well, open it then," Bonnie says excitedly.
Elena looks up and sees Bonnie's encouraging face beaming over Jeremy's shoulder. She should have looked for support in her friend right away. Not in her brother, who was as nervous as she was, or Stefan, even though she loved him more than she ever thought she will love a man in this period of her life. She should have known she's going to find support in her best friend, person who has been there for her when these two men couldn't for various reasons.
She smiles in Bonnie's direction and goes for the envelope opening. She gets her fingernail under the curve where the paper is glued and starts pulling it apart. The noise is too loud so she bites her lower lip and closes her eyes. Once the envelope is opened she reaches for the paper inside of it, and even though it's folded, she can see black, printed letters on the other side.
She inhales hardly, exhales loudly, and unfolds the paper. Her eyes fall on the first sentence on the top of the paper and she's too scared to continue reading, so her look kinda lingers on the first word of the first sentence for few seconds.
All of the eyes are on her, she can feel it. So she moves on the second word. The third one.
The more she moves the harder she swallows. The harder it is for her to breathe.
Then she reaches it. Her answer. Words she's been waiting for months.
She raises her look from the paper and looks right at Stefan. He's patiently waiting for her response, but she doesn't say anything. She's struck.
The expression on her face is unreadable.
"I - " she starts, her eyes flickering bright under the sun beams, jumping from Stefan to Jeremy and Bonnie, before looking down at the paper, "I didn't get in," she says sadly.
Her voice is silent, husky. There's a certain kind of heaviness to it, sadness even. "I didn't get in," she repeats once again like she's only realizing it now. Like saying it for the second time finally makes her brain understand what the letter said. She raises her head and looks at Stefan, her eyes full of tears.
His throat tightness when he sees her face expression, twisted in sadness and pain and weight of failure.
She looks so helpless, so lost, so..
.. devastated.
All he wants to do is help her, but he doesn't know how.
He can't think of the right words to say, and he doesn't want to use the wrong ones. Words are not going to help anyway.
He's too afraid to touch her because, as of right now, she looks like she's made out of glass. One wrong move and she will break.
She will slip out of his hands and shatter on the floor.
If he doesn't touch her, maybe she manages to keep standing.
"What?" Jeremy asks in disbelief, "Let me see that," he takes the letter out of her fragile hands.
His eyes scramble through to page, trying to find the error in her words, but once he reads it through he pulls his lips into a tight, thin line.
More tears fill her eyes, and before the first one gets a chance to roll down her cheek, she squeezes her eye shut and disappears into the living room.
"Elena," Stefan says sympathetically, but when he reaches the living room, he can see her going across the dining room and through the back door. He can hear her whimper before the door fall shut.
"Let her be," Bonnie says quietly, and this is probably the first time she spoke to him directly, "She needs to be alone now," Stefan looks at Bonnie and realizes she feels as sorry for Elena as he does.
He doesn't want to leave her alone. He doesn't want her to be alone. She doesn't have to be.
But he just nods, burying himself in place.
Because he knows she needs to be.
He let's her be for quite some time. An hour, maybe hour and a half even.
She's been sitting on the stairs of a back porch for the whole time, staring at the one spot on the fence. She hasn't moved, not even once. She kept her arms crossed on her knees, her breathing was steady, her shoulders moving up and down with every breath she took.
She stopped whimpering, and crying. Elena never was much of a crier anyway. She got it out of her system, and then calmed down. But the look on her face afterwards was as heartbreaking as the sound of her breath leaving her body followed by a stream of tears and sobbing.
He would check up on her from time to time, just to make sure she's still there and that she's alright. As alright as she can be.
Bonnie and Jeremy left after an hour or so. They planned to have a date and Stefan told them they should go on with their plans, even though both of them insisted on staying. He managed to convince them to go since there's really nothing they can do for Elena, not until she decides to ask for help.
If she decides to ask for help. She's coping on her own.
He opened the back door and stepped out on the porch. She didn't even flinch. Not even to look who's coming to disrupt her silence. She kept looking at that one spot on the fence like her life depends on it.
He walks over to her and sits on the steps next to her, leaving the boxes he's been carrying in his hands next to himself. The rattle they do once he drops them on the porch makes her jump a little, showcasing first sign of life after an hour and a half. Other than breathing, of course.
When he looks at her face he notices her eyes are still puffy, glimmering under the sunlight. They look beautiful in a sad kind of a way.
Her cheeks are bright red, and her lips parted a little, enough for her to exhale.
They sit like that in silence, she in the position she's been for the last hour and a half, and him with his legs sprawled against the lower stairs.
"I'm not in the mood for a picnic," she finally says, without looking at him.
"Well good," his voice is serious. As much as his heart is breaking for her, he doesn't want to show her that. Because if he does, they will both sink. "Since we're not having one."
She looks at him seriously and he's glad she had finally moved from her position. "What are these for?" she points at the three boxes of plates next to him.
He takes one of the boxes in his hands and puts it on his lap, slowly unpacking it. "What do you usually do when you're in the situation like this?" she follows his clumsy fingers.
"I haven't been in a situation like this for a very long time," she answers. She wanted to say she hasn't been this sad since her mom died, but she handled that kind of sadness differently. Her mom was gone, and there's nothing she could do about it. It was something she had no influence over.
And now, she's the only one to blame.
Stefan huffs. "Well, what do you usually do when you're sad?" the thought of her being sad fills him with his own kind of sadness.
"I read," she says instantly, without thinking.
Of course she does. She gets in her chair, snuggles in a blanket, makes herself a cup of tea and reads. That's what makes her feel better.
"Do you think a book would help you now?" he asks.
She shakes her head. Books always help, when it comes to trivial problems. After she reads they don't seem so big anymore. Because reading fills her with joy and inspiration and everything else seem irrelevant, but the world she found herself in.
But this problem, this kind of a sadness, is too big to push in the back of her mind and cover it up with a chapter of her favorite book.
"I play football," he announces while taking the plates out of the box, "You're too clumsy for something like that, the only thing you would manage to do is get yourself hurt," and more pain is the last thing she needs right now.
A tiny smile appears in the corners of her lips because she is clumsy, too clumsy. And him noticing it makes her happy for some reason.
"So I thought this might help," he takes one ceramic, white plate in his hands and gives it to her. She wraps her fingers around the edges of the plate. "Well, go for it," he tells her after few moments of silence.
She gets to her feet, still staring at the plate in her hands. She twirls it few times before she says, "All these years, all for nothing," she hisses through her teeth, "Hours of studying," her voice becomes deeper, louder, "Doing projects for an extra credit," she wants to cry, but anger clouds her pain, "Joining all those fucking pointless clubs," her voice is sharp, there's an edge to it, "All for nothing," she crashes the plate on the ground. It doesn't fall out of her hands or slip from her fingers, she crashes it violently, followed by deep breathing.
She turns around rapidly and takes another plate from his lap, and he starts opening the second box.
"Why can't I ever do anything right?" she seems annoyed with herself.
Crash.
"I fail every single time!"
Crash.
"Nothing in my life ever goes right," her voice gets lost somewhere inside of her throat.
Crash.
Tears start rolling down her face again.
He wants to stop her. To take her into his arms and tell her everything is going to be okay. To console her.
But he knows that's not going to solve anything. He would only make himself feel better, not her.
She needs this. She needs to let it out.
She grabs another plate but doesn't destroy it instantly. She locks her eyes on it before she says, "You know what's the worst thing?" she asks, but he knows she doesn't expect him to answer her.
"I never wanted to go to Harvard!"
The plate crashes on the ground.
"It was never my dream. It was his dream. I just wanted to make him happy."
There's another crash.
"All I managed to do was disappoint him," she's quiet now, her voice cracking under the pressure of her words.
She turns around and he notices her teary eyes and red cheeks, as well as lips pulled down, painful expression on her face.
"I have no idea what I want," her voice is heavy, which makes him get to his feet, walk over to her and pull her into a hug.
He can't stand seeing her like that without at least trying to help her.
Her head falls on his shirt, and he can feel her tears soaking up the cotton. He can also feel how hard it is for her to breathe, and the loud thump of her heart against his chest.
"You're beautiful, and smart, and witty, and funny," he puts his hand on the top of her head and starts stroking her hair with his fingers, "You're the most caring and generous person I've ever met," she stops sobbing and starts inhaling loudly, making his throat tighten, "I know this was important to you, but which college you go to doesn't have to define you," her face stays buried in his shirt, "You can still be whoever you want to be, and do whatever you want to do," he kisses the top of her head, "You made me life so much better, Elena, and I don't know if that's something you ever wanted to do, but giving someone a stronger will to live without trying to do so is a pretty good accomplishment," his arms stay wrapped around her.
Her arms go flying around his neck, and she locks her fingers so she can hold onto him.
"I feel like you're the only right thing I've ever done," she nuzzles her nose against his shirt, affected by his words.
"I think we're very right as well," a faint smile appears on his face, "But I don't want you to feel like that," her body tenses against his before it gets relaxed by his following words, "You're so much more than that," he whispers into her ear.
Maybe she is. But he is enough for her.
The words never leave her, though.
"What now?" she asks silently, still clutching onto him.
He sighs. "Now you wait for other letters."
"Princeton," she whispers.
"How do you feel about us being there together?"
"Happy," it's as simple as that.
"Good," he says relieved, "I'd love to have you there."
"Oh?"
"Sure, how do you expect me to pass all of those exams if you don't help me study?" he smirks.
She smacks him on the back lightly.
"I'm going to prevent you from going for all those college girls," she teases him.
He squeezes her closer. "I don't need anyone else as long as I have you."
And he's planning on keeping her forever.
She lets go of him and, somehow, wiggles herself out of his hug, falling back on her own two feet.
"I can't stay here," her cheeks blush, "Can I sleep at your place tonight?"
He plants a kiss on her forehead. "Sure."
The sun goes down, and stars and the moon come up and start playing the game of light and shadow on the skin of her naked body.
His fingertips cover every inch of her skin, leaving goosebumps on it.
His lips follow the trace of his fingertips and soon enough he tastes every bit of her body, and he concludes the taste of her skin is his favorite taste in the world. Closely followed by the smell of her hair and the sound of her laugh.
He could spend his whole life doing nothing but making her laugh. Seeing her smile. Like a child in disguise.
The night is quiet. There's no wind, no traffic noise, no screaming coming from inside of the house. All he can hear are her loud inhales and even louder exhales, her seductive moaning and delicious panting.
His lips travel to hers and he swallows one of her moans.
He wants to swallow all the pain and fear that has been building inside of her as well.
She gently bites his lower lip with her front teeth and he winces from the pleasurable pain that goes down his throat.
Their skin collides, and he can feel how slippery her skin is from all the sweat but he doesn't care. He lets his skin get glued to hers, even though he knows detaching it will be a painful process.
He wants to take her in, whole of her. He wants to inhale her into his lungs and plant her there, like a tree, let her grow.
She was his anyway, and he was hers, and there really wasn't anything in between.
And it was as simple as that.
She rolls them over and now she's on top of him, her lips colliding with the skin of his chest, and she's kissing him through the whole length of his torso.
He can feel her all over himself. She hid one part of herself in every pore of his body, in every crack on his skin. When he breaths in he has a feeling he's inhaling her scent, and when he breaths out he tries to catch the same air because he's too scared of letting her go.
And when her body relaxes after every muscle in it tenses she falls on his chest and he can feel their hearts beating to the same rhythm at the equal speed.
"I wish I could be more like you," she says quietly, her fingertips trailing the length of his arm, "Satisfied with what I have. With who I am."
Funny, since he always wanted to be more like her.
"I think we spend too much time wanting to be someone else that we forget how to be ourselves."
AN: I guess nothing can go perfect.