Stefan Salvatore, Elena Gilbert; The Party; 8 PM
In Caroline's brief absence, sadness started setting in all over again and she reached for her glass, only to remember she'd finished it what seemed like ages ago. Now, there was nothing from stopping the feelings of loss and more specifically, guilt, from taking over completely. Why hadn't she figured out something was off about Bonnie? No phone calls. Just texts and e-mails. She should have known; somehow, Bonnie always seemed to know when something was wrong with Elena or Caroline. She just had this "radar" that could pick up on if her friends' were upset or not. What was wrong with her? Why hadn't she known? Why hadn't she known? Bonnie had been her best friend since preschool along with Caroline. The three were inseparable or supposed to be, but in the heat of her passion for Damon and her brother's return to the living, she lost that bond. She was happy and any thoughts of something being off, about Stefan, about Bonnie, was not something she wanted to think about. How hadn't she known? About both of them? No, she had known. That was the problem. The cause of the guilt ripping her apart from the inside out now. She'd known about Stefan, about Bonnie too, and she'd pushed it aside. She didn't want to know if anything was wrong. She didn't want to face it.
One of the waiters swung by, offering up his wares on a silver tray for her inspection and Elena didn't hesitate to accept another glass of whatever it was he had to give. Lips parted, she moved to downed the alcohol in a single sip, but the sight of someone too familiar made her stop. "Stefan?" The glass was abandoned, untouched completely, on the nearest flat surface at the sight of her ex-boyfriend appearing from the midst of the crowd. Gathering up her thick, heavy train she hurried over, awkwardly tripping and landing on her knees, unladylike, in front of him. If it wasn't for her vampire enforced modesty, she would have been as red as a cherry. If it hadn't been for her vampire durability, she'd be sporting two new bruises on her knees. Instead, she merely looked up at him, an embarrassed grin on her lips, and slowly, carefully, she pushed herself up from the floor. "I guess I wouldn't have survived very long in your day," she joked weakly. She pushed a stray chestnut curl back behind her ear. "How are you? Are you okay?" The questions were blurted out before she could stop herself. To worry, to care, came easily around the younger Salvatore and despite his obvious dislike of her at the moment, old habits died hard and Elena would never stop caring...even if he hated her for the rest of eternity.
Stefan's words caught her off guard, silencing her flurry of questions, and she stifled the rest of the words behind painted closed lips. So many things he wanted to say? So many things he shouldn't, His offered hand brought back a flurry of memories. Most recently, the river and where she'd almost kissed him. One look in his eyes and she knew she could so easily fall under that spell again. Her eyes fell to his hand again. Should she? Dance with me. It wasn't a question so much as a command, maybe a plea even, and Elena reached out to take his offered hand. "Sure. Yes," she replied softly. It was one little dance, nothing harmful in that, right? Nothing menacing or malicious, right? She put a tentative hand on his shoulder.