Elena was in bed; the same place she'd been in for two weeks, the same place she'd been in since what would've been her wedding day if she'd been able to go through with marrying Damon. She lay on her side, her face buried in the pillow, and listened to the storm thunder down on the roof. Rain lashed against the windows and she stared out to the dark grey sky, remembering how Caroline and Alaric told the bewildered guests to go home after she'd explained to both of them that there'd be no ceremony; to how Stefan gazed at her with anguish before setting off to find Damon.

Stefan. Damon.

Elena's eyes welled simply thinking their names. Remorse swelled in her gut at the memory of Damon's furious grief. She'd cried for days over the pain she'd caused him, over how far and how long she'd led him on, for how her inability to be honest with herself and with him and with Stefan had taken Damon away from his brother. Again. It was all because of her, everything was always because of her and yet … and yet … and yet she didn't feel ashamed or regretful about what she'd revealed. How could she when Stefan inspired none of those feelings in her, when loving Stefan had always been her source of comfort and solace, when his love for her had always provided her with strength. But she'd ruined that too, ruined any chance of being in the heart of that like she used to be when they were together; now she only had the memory of that safety and the knowledge that Stefan wanted to envelope her in it again and for always. But he couldn't and she couldn't ask him to and that was …

Tears started to run down Elena's face, hot and fast; she didn't bother to wipe them away. Knowing that she and Stefan would never be together devastated her with a loss similar to what she'd experienced before ever meeting him; the feeling that from now on life would only be a pale imitation of what she'd enjoyed when they were together, of what she hoped to enjoy again after they'd admitted their ever-present connection to each other. She would suffer what she'd suffered after her parents died — being only half-present, half-engaged in the world around her; sure she would find it in herself to carry on with her life, to laugh at her friends' jokes, to make her way through college but none of it would bring her the joy it would've if Stefan were by her side experiencing it all with her. It was beyond never feeling happy again, she would never feel wholly complete without him; she would forever be haunted by the sensation that something was missing from her life.

But then, at the same time, Elena in a way welcomed the pain she was in — it was a reminder of what she felt for Stefan, of what he felt for her. Beneath the heartache was the simple fact that the two of them shared a bond that was unshakeable. Even with the amount of time that passed since they'd been together, even with the both of them exploring different relationships, even with the amount of tests they'd had to face from compulsion to the humanity switch to death, their love for each other never eroded or disappeared, and that comforted Elena; it was something she couldn't lose because she knew it was something she'd rely on to get through the days to come. She'd always relied on it. When she'd first been introduced to the existence of the supernatural, when Vicki Donovan had died, it was the most scared she'd ever been and she'd wished that she'd never met Stefan on the first day of junior year, wished he'd never opened her eyes to a world that had done nothing but wreak havoc on her town and on her peace of mind, but still she couldn't bring herself to make herself forget him. She couldn't bring herself to banish what she felt for and about him because it was the only feeling she had that was strong enough and good enough to get her through the bad. Even when Stefan had come back to Mystic Falls broken by Klaus, a malicious shadow of the man she'd fallen in love with, her faith in that man returning, her love for that man had been what kept her going through all of the destruction, it was her drive and her will. And it would be again.

Still, Elena struggled for two weeks. A clash between the pain and the gratefulness she had for that pain battled within her, numbing her body and tormenting her mind with conflict, and then there were moments, excruciating moments, in which she was overtaken by a longing so intense it almost smothered her. It was a longing that aggravated her own sorrow, that agitated her own barely controlled urge to seek Stefan out and throw her arms around him, that called to the desire for his lips, his touch, his gaze that ached heavy in her chest, but it was a longing that didn't feel entirely like her own. There was a wildness to it that made the longing almost a chaotic force raging throughout her body, pushing at her insides to get out, to be satiated, that made it hard for her to simply breathe. There was such power in it, such passion and such honesty and it flooded Elena with familiarity because all of it felt like … well, it felt like Stefan. Felt like his nature, his character. It felt like she was experiencing Stefan's longing for her within her own body and that peaked her own yearning for him in the harshest way. A part of Elena waited for those moments with melancholic anticipation because she was, for a brief while, at one with Stefan and knew exactly what he was feeling and the intimacy of that nourished her. The other part of her cursed the moments for overpowering her because it only served to remind her of what she and Stefan were denying themselves and the agonizing consequences of their denial. She was as far away from him as she could stand, staying in the guestroom at Bonnie's house, and yet she felt him in her bones, like how she had suffered his suffering the summer he drowned repeatedly in the quarry.

Thunder rumbled and the rain pounded on the roof even harder than before; lightning flashed outside, momentarily `turning the sky a shocking white and wind rattled the windows, hissing and howling through the cracks of the house. It had been a while since a storm like this waged its way through Mystic Falls but even with all of the noise, Elena could hear them muttering downstairs, hear Caroline's frantic whispers.

"She's been in bed for two weeks, that isn't healthy! I'm going to go up there."

"No, Caroline," said Bonnie. "She said she wants to be alone, we have to respect that."

"I still don't even know what happened. Alaric is off with Damon God knows where, Stefan isn't picking up his phone … aren't you the least bit curious why our best friend isn't Mrs Elena Salvatore right now?"

"Of course I am but she'll tell us when she's ready. I just don't think — hey, where are you going?"

Elena sniffled and took a deep shuddering breath, finally wiping the tears away from her eyes, mentally preparing herself for the Caroline Forbes Inquisition, which she had managed to avoid for fourteen days. But when the door creaked open and Elena shifted her position so that she was facing the entrance of the room, she wasn't looking at Caroline. For a few moments Elena didn't say anything and then he spoke, his voice soft with ironic amusement.

"What's wrong with you?" he asked.

Elena pressed her lips together and smiled sadly. "I'm miserable."

Jeremy pursed his own lips sympathetically and then walked over to the bed. Elena moved over so he could lie next to her, his hands behind his head. When he got comfortable, he turned his head to her. "So Caroline's freaking out."

Elena let out a weak laugh. "I know, I could hear her from up here."

"Bonnie's worried too."

"Yeah," said Elena. "I know."

Jeremy looked at her. "So what happened?" he asked quietly. "Did Damon —"

"He didn't do anything," said Elena quickly.

"Elena —"

"I'm not trying to protect him, Jer. He really didn't do anything. This isn't his fault."

"So then what? What happened?"

Elena didn't say anything but bit her lip hesitantly.

"Hey, you're my big sister," said Jeremy. "You can tell me anything."

Elena searched his expression for a few minutes and then nodded her head, taking a breath in. "The night before the wedding …" she sighed. "I told Stefan I was in love with him. It wasn't something I just realized, it was just something I couldn't pretend not to feel anymore because I felt it ever since I met him, you know? It never went away." Elena pushed her mouth to the side. "Well he wanted me to marry Damon anyway but then …" Elena started to tear up again. "Damon caught us together the day of the wedding and … I am so horrible for doing this to them."

"Have you spoken to Stefan since —"

"No," said Elena. "I couldn't bear to … I can't even… No. I haven't spoken to him."

Jeremy didn't say anything for a few minutes. "Remember when we got high the day I left Mystic Falls for … college?"

"Yeah, what about it?" said Elena, giggling in embarrassment.

Jeremy smiled and then licked his lips and then started to speak carefully. "We talked about Mom and Dad, about what it was like right after they died, how you started to get better."

Elena nodded.

"Well," Jeremy continued. "That was because of Stefan. He made you happy, I saw it. I saw how being with him made you start to heal. And even when I resented you for getting better when I was still … stuck and sad, and even when I was angry at you for lying to me about Vicki and about the town … I liked you with Stefan. I liked that he made my sister happy and I knew that you'd be OK as long as you were with him."

"So, what are you saying, Jeremy?"

"I'm saying that Stefan wouldn't want this, Elena," he said. "You in bed? Not seeing anyone for weeks? I get it, you're hurting, believe me, I get that more than anyone. But Stefan wouldn't want your life to stop because of him."

Elena was quiet for a few minutes, listening to the rough pitterpatter of the storm. She knew what Jeremy said was true, that Stefan wouldn't want her to stay still, stay stuck; even when it killed him to nudge her along, even when it tore him apart to help her move forward, he never hesitated in doing it. But now that fact inspired overwhelming sadness in her, sadness that she wouldn't be able to be with the man who did that for her and that sadness triggered her gratefulness and the clash of emotions battled on within her. Suddenly, she jerked upright in bed and threw off the covers.

"Whoa, Elena, what are you doing?" said Jeremy as Elena inched her way off of the mattress.

"I don't know yet," she said. "But you're right, I can't stay here forever. I need to move, I need to go, I need to…"

"But have you seen outside? You can't go anywhere in this weather."

"I'll be fine. I'm not going far. I'm not … I don't know where I'm going exactly but I … I just, I can't be in here anymore. I need to start moving forward," said Elena, rummaging through the closet for clean clothes and bathroom attire. "But I won't be gone long. Stay here until I get back. You can keep Bonnie company and —"

"Right about that," said Jeremy. He hesitated. "Has anything …" Jeremy cleared his throat. "Has anything happened between Kai and Bonnie?"

Elena stopped going through the closet and looked at him. "Why would you ask me something like that?"

"No reason I just … she fell asleep on the couch last night and I heard her … mumbling his name. Thought it was … weird."

"Did she sound scared?"

"Definitely not," said Jeremy; his voice grew uncharacteristically harsh.

"Oh." Elena opened her mouth to speak but didn't know what to say and closed it again. "You know what," she said finally. "We'll talk about that later, it's a long story and I don't want to rush through it. Just … hang tight." Elena ran out of the room, a pile of clothes gathered in her arms, but a few seconds later she popped her head back into the doorway. "I've missed you, you know," she said. "You should come around more."

Jeremy grinned. "I missed you too."

And with that Elena left again.

Stefan couldn't concentrate; the thunder was deafening and the constant splash of rain echoed in his ears. He was sitting in his room, his leather-bound journal open on his desk — it had been a long time since he'd tried to write in his diary but then it had been a long time since he'd felt the need to.

For two weeks, the urge to gorge himself on human blood until he passed out into hazy bliss roared in his stomach and itched at his gums, terrorizing him with a ravenous hunger that overtook his body. But that wasn't his problem. An insatiable appetite he knew how to control. An insatiable appetite he knew how to deal with. But his hunger fuelled his longing for her, to be with her, to love her unreservedly and it fuelled his longing with an almost savage intensity that Stefan ached for Elena with his entire being. He was suffocated with his want for her but was also frantic for the way only she could soothe him, settle the ripper within him, and it all reminded him of the pain he'd caused Damon, which in turn agitated his hunger, starting the cycle all over again. He was consumed with brotherly guilt, bound by familial obligation and devastated with the desire to run to the one person with whom he was happiest … to run to Elena. And so he wrote. Or tried to.

The first three days after Damon's would-be wedding day, Stefan was solely concerned with finding him; he tracked any and every suspicious murder or hospital break-in, mapping out his findings on his bedroom wall. Finally, he'd found out that Damon and Alaric were in Amsterdam and when Alaric had answered his phone after seventeen messages and four dozen missed calls, he'd explained to Stefan their plan to drink their way through every country in Europe. The moment the call ended, Stefan bought a plane ticket to join them so he could talk to Damon, plead with him, try and make him understand that he really did want him to be happy even if that happiness meant Stefan was denied his. He'd had a plan. A speech. But then he made his way to the airport and he … missed his flight. He watched the passengers board, watched the plane take off, and then he sat in the terminal for six hours afterward.

He couldn't leave Mystic Falls.

He couldn't leave partly because he knew that Alaric's warnings of, "Back off, let him grieve" had merit; Stefan was the last person Damon wanted to see and if he showed up in Amsterdam uninvited and unannounced, things could and probably would get ugly. Violent. Homicidal. But if Stefan was honest with himself, he couldn't leave Mystic Falls mostly because he couldn't leave Elena. Not even for a few days.

They wouldn't be together. He wouldn't let that happen. He couldn't let that happen. But he also couldn't bear to be too far away from her; even if he never saw her or interacted with her, just being in the same town she was, a half hour drive away from where she was staying, just knowing he was walking the streets she was walking, provided him with a consolation he couldn't lose even if it tormented him as much as it comforted him because while the anguish of being apart from her seared his throat at least he was near her. At least he was in her proximity, close to where she was. It was the best he would ever get. And whenever Stefan had reached that realization in the past two weeks, he was, without warning, hit with an overpowering sense of…despair, of loss that bit his longing for Elena with a desperation that made him clench his hair with frustration, that made him envision being with her, above her, within her, repeatedly and with cruel clarity. And yet the despondency didn't belong to him, he could feel Elena in it; there was an earnest quality to the sadness that overcame him, an unfiltered and therefore brutal purity to the misery that Stefan knew, without question, belonged to her and it pained him almost to craze that she was that sad, that he was making her that sad but he couldn't go to her. He just … he just couldn't … he…

Thunder cracked loud and sharp and Stefan snapped his head toward his bedroom door, the white glare of the lighting etching out his silhouette. He heard nothing but the storm but he sensed … he felt …

Swiftly, he stood up from his chair and rushed out of his bedroom, running down the stairs, his feet loud and clunky on the steps, his mind racing. He sped into the foyer and wrenched open the front door. Elena had just made it onto the porch, out of breath and completely soaked; her hair stringy and wet, her jeans and sweater sodden. She stared at him, her eyebrows furrowed and Stefan looked at her rain-washed face, his jaw tremoring at seeing her pained expression.

"I have to leave, Stefan," she said, yelling above the noise of the storm. "Too many people have gotten hurt. Too much has happened."

"What?" said Stefan, stepping out of the doorway and onto the porch. He was drenched almost immediately; the bluster of the wind had made the rainfall haphazard and powerful. "No. This is your home, your friends are here, this house is yours —"

"I have to," said Elena. "I can't be here, Stefan. I …" She shook her head quickly and ran both of her hands through her wet hair. "Do you know how hard it is to be so close to you and not be able to be with you? For two weeks I stayed in bed because I knew the moment I left Bonnie's house, the moment I just left the room, I'd rush over here to see you and …"

"So I'll leave," said Stefan. "If anyone has to go it should be —"

"No!" Elena's yell was outdone by another burst of thunder and the downpour pounded on them still even harder.

"I'm not going far, just back on campus," said Elena. "But I can't do this. I can't not be a part of your life but be reminded of you every day. And I can't ask you to be with me, I can't ask you to put me before Damon, that isn't fair to you. Or him. So…" Elena took a steadying breath, trying not to blubber. "I know it doesn't seem like it, Stefan, but I'm also doing this for you."

Stefan looked up to the sky, sniffing loudly to keep himself from crying anymore, wiping the rain out of his eyes. Elena's lips started to tremble and quickly she turned around to head back toward her car. Stefan watched her go, her figure illuminated in flashes with each appearance the lightning made, forked in the sky.

He felt it all.

Their combined desperation for him to act on his own urges and to fulfill Elena's wishes was an unbearable knot that twisted in his chest and choked his throat. His blood screamed with the sheer anguish Elena was in having to walk away from him; that same sense of crushing loss, of her crushing loss, lay waste to his body, and a chasm burrowed in his gut so that it was as if a part of him was missing. Stefan squeezed his eyes shut. Normally, he'd react to this kind of sorrow by numbing his senses but he couldn't because it was Elena's grief, not his, and instead it intensified his yearning for her, deepened his reckless need to kiss her pain away, to hold her until she felt safe, to embrace her and feel her, to never let her go. And he knew she felt his need, he knew it was a constant twinge in her chest that crazed her. It was nothing short of torture to feel this kind of love, to share this kind of love and not engage in it; Stefan felt suffocated by his own discipline. It was intolerable, it was excruciating, it was … it was …

"Wait!"

Elena stopped walking, standing a few feet away from her car, and turned around to face Stefan. For a split second they gazed at each other, their eyes forging a link between them, and then Stefan walked purposefully toward her, his feet splashing in miniature puddles, and he thrust his lips against hers, seizing either side of her face with his hands, clutching onto her as if daring her to try and walk away from him. Elena immediately slipped her hands around to the back of Stefan's head, the wet strands of his hair tickling her fingers, and pushed herself deeper into the kiss, her mouth opening his with frenzy, with greed. She moaned quietly at the taste of his tongue, the soft sincerity of his lips, as Stefan flattened his palms against her spine, squeezing her to him, his nails digging into the material of her sweater, itching to pierce through and feel her, really feel her. Elena arched her back and stood up on tiptoe, her arms around his neck, feeling at once complete and in dire need of more, as if no amount of time with Stefan would ever make up for the time she'd gone without him. Stefan gripped her waist, her hips, relishing the simple fact that she was against him, wanting so severely to leave her breathless and anchored, stunned and grounded. All of his wants, all of her hopes, the full extent of their pain and their yearning passed between them in this kiss, wreaking havoc on their bodies, culminating into a suffocating desire to — to —

Elena wrenched away from Stefan and he contracted with anguished bewilderment. No! He felt the word reverberate throughout his entire body; his very core was screaming "no", screaming for her to return to him. But just as quickly as she pulled away from the kiss did Elena put her hands at the bottom of Stefan's shirt and hastily pull it up and over his head, throwing it onto the ground. The rain shattered down on Stefan's bare back and Elena lunged forward, pressing her lips against his neck, smoothing her palms over the tautness of his chest, the curve of his shoulders and she nipped her way along his jaw, down to his collarbone, making Stefan close his eyes and sigh, his hand grasping her waist. Elena's kissing inflamed his skin and seemed to almost burn the raindrops on his torso. He grabbed either side of her face yet again and lifted her head upward, kissing her voraciously, groaning as she tugged on his lower lip with her teeth. He used his speed to push her back to the porch and against a wall, her back slamming against the brick of the Salvatore Mansion, his body slamming against hers. With a jerk Stefan ripped the front of Elena's sweater in half, his fingers already undoing her bra clasp. He kissed her beneath her jaw, along her throat, her gasps urging him on, inflaming his already riotous desire for her. He brushed his lips against her ear and savoured the heat of her chest against his, the rain acting as a coolant on their incensed skin.

"Elena…" he breathed in her ear. He felt her back arch for a second time and suddenly she had moved from the wall, pushing him back and onto the wet stone of the porch, sitting astride him. Her mouth was on his with such force, her hand beneath his chin, his hand tangled in her hair; he raised his head off the ground to respond to Elena's fervour with zeal of his own. Elena broke away from the kiss, sitting upright, to move her hair out of her face, spraying Stefan with even more water droplets, and Stefan slid his hands up Elena's hips. To her waist. To her stomach. To her breasts. He felt the dips and shallows of her skin with his entire self. Elena gazed down at him, her lips parted, as his palms explored her body, discovered her body, memorized her body. For the first time and for the hundredth.

In one swift motion, Stefan turned so that Elena was beneath him, her legs wrapped around his middle, their faces a breath away from each other, but he didn't kiss her. Stefan hovered above her, piercing his eyes into hers, allowing and inviting her eyes to stare fixedly into his, and he felt Elena unfold into him in the same moment he gave himself to her. For the first time and for the hundredth.

Elena reached up and caressed Stefan's parted lips with her thumb, her eyes never once leaving his.

"I never stopped loving you," she whispered. "Never."

And Stefan brought his lips to Elena's again, the rain showering upon their entwined bodies.