For Red.
By idolatrie.
Stefan liked their kitchen. He liked the black granite counters that stayed cold even in the middle of summer. He liked the gleaming coffee machine with its sleek lines and curves. He liked that they had a state-of-the-art extractor fan even though they never have -- and probably never would -- cooked in the kitchen. Because sometimes the appearance of normality was more important than its reality.
But most of all, Stefan liked the display shelves along the wall hiding the pantry. Because the wall was filled from floor to ceiling with jars. And those jars were filled with everything imaginable. There were dried pasta shells in one, beside the jar with penne and the fusilli. Then the spaghetti and the linguine, gemelli and rigatoni, tortellini, cannelloni and every type of pasta a good Italian boy could name. There were dried rose petals in another, and one with pumice stone. A different shelf held dried pomegranates, crystallised ginger and rock candy. Smooth river stones in another jar, sitting neighbour to wafer-thin shale chips and something that could be carved ivory, could be carved bone.
Stefan liked them all because they were Matt's and they were tangible proof Matt had settled here, in this apartment. Stefan could not quite understand Matt's pack-rat need to collect samples of all his favourite things since it seemed he saved so few mementos himself over the years. But he could excuse it as an idiosyncrasy of the newly-immortal to attempt to preserve the world as it was, to make it as unchanging as they.
He remembered thinking that. But everything else...just was not there anymore. The accident had not robbed him of his memories, precisely, but it had made them unordered and unintelligible, like scraps of a film heaped on the cutting room floor. He had been relying on Matt to tell him what happened when, but it was still a frustrating process. Matt had the patience of a saint, though, and had rarely left Stefan's side since he had woken.
Matt explained they had gotten caught in one of the riots that seemed to be starting up in every city. Someone had taken exception to Stefan's colouring and sung a nail-studded baseball bat at his head. Matt had been shaking when he described how he had picked up all the bits of skull and brain matter that had been spread on the road, and carried it home in a plastic bag, along with Stefan's dead weight over his shoulder, praying that no one would notice he was carrying a dead body through the streets. It had taken hours, and an online copy of 'Gray's Anatomy' to put him together again, followed by days of waiting while his healing ability did the rest.
Stefan knew it had taken a huge toll on Matt because his first recollection on waking up was opening his eyes and seeing Matt's pale, lined face watching his own, it crumpling into an expression of relief, and the way he sobbed out Stefan's name. Even though at that moment nothing made sense to Stefan, he knew that whatever had put Matt into his life was worth it.
A pair of arms circled round Stefan's waist from behind. A breath in his ear, "penny for your thoughts?" Stefan let his head fall back onto a shoulder. "How did we meet?" He felt rather than heard the aborted laugh. "You just...turned up. That would have been...after the summer Elena spent in France. So before senior year. I saw you around in school, and we just started hanging out. Of course, then you started dating my ex." Stefan tensed slightly, frowning. "Did that cause any problems?" Matt shrugged. "Not really. Hell, made you practically part of the family. Your brother's married to her now, you know." "Oh, no, I didn't know. So I wasn't that into her then?" "Not that into her? Far as I know you still love her." "I do? Wouldn't have known if you hadn't told me." Matt shifted. "Shouldn't have said a damn thing. Could have had your absolute attention for once, eh?" Stefan shook his head. "You do, Matt. You're all that matters." He turned in Matt's arms. "Headache. Going to lie down, try to shut off for a while."
Stefan woke slowly, eyes having trouble focusing and mouth tasting foul. He groped through memories, trying to work out where he was. He remembered street lamps, and the shadows between each pool of light. A fight. They went for his knees first, something like a baseball bat shattering them backwards. A strike across his back then, hard enough to dislodge vertebrae and a knee to his face, breaking his jaw before he could shout out. His attacker had stood over him, backlit by the lamps, and Stefan thought he recognised him for a moment before the bat came down on his head, and feeling, hearing his skull cave inwards before blacking out.
There was white all around, the bed and sheets he was lying on felt like hospital issue, but the lack of beeping monitors told him he was not in one. He tried to move, but his hands and feet were both restrained. Mental institution, perhaps? He turned his head to the side, and there, slumped down in a plastic chair, was Matt.
Stefan must have made some sort of noise, because Matt jolted up, and moved towards him. He was dressed all in black, and there was blood splattered on his clothing, his face. "Sleeping beauty awakes," Matt smiled at that in a cruel and unfamiliar manner. He still had the same athlete's build, with blond hair falling into his eyes. Still looked like the poster boy for good Aryan breeding. But there was something else, something new to him that Stefan could not place. Then he saw it. The gold and lapis ring on Matt's finger. Damon's ring. "After all, we wouldn't want you missing out on the good bits," Matt continued, "so, have you ever had your blood taken from you by force?" Matt asked, and for a moment Stefan was paralysed by the convergence of his brother's words and Matt's voice. "Wait, don't answer," Matt continued, "of course you have, that's a favourite trick of Damon's, isn't it? And Elena was always a good student, so you know I have." Stefan jerked at the mention of her name, an action Matt could not miss. "Come now, it's far too late for jealousy. You gave her up long ago."
Stefan almost could not recognise this bitter, angry man in front of him.
Stefan lurched upright, gasping. He looked around, hands stretching out along the dark blue sheets, empty but for him. A nightmare. Dream. Unreality. "Matt?" he called out, trying to not shake, not move. "Matt?" increasing desperation in his tone. "Yeah, babe? With you in a sec." Matt walked in, book dangling from his hand. The sense of terror had faded as he came more awake, and Stefan felt slightly embarrassed about his reaction. "What's wrong?" "Uh, nothing. Just, um, wasn't sure where I was for a moment." He tried to smile. "Everything ok?" Matt's voice was filled with concern, hand reaching out towards Stefan. Who froze, eyes fixed on the ring. "What's that?" Stefan's tone was flat. Matt furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. "That ring, why do you have Damon's ring?" "Why do I...? Oh, it's not his. It just looks like it, but it doesn't have that weird inscription that's in his." Stefan took a breath. "Why is your ring a replica of Damon's?" "Well, when he changed me, he was kind of busy so he said he just dropped off his own ring at the jewellers and told them to copy it. They took it to mean exactly, at least for the outside, and I never bothered to change it after. So you're remembering more about your brother now?" Stefan nodded tightly. "Why did Damon change you?" Matt looked at him consideringly. "You know I don't mind the questions, but leave off running this like an interrogation, ok?" Stefan looked down at his hands and felt a brief twinge of guilt for manipulating Matt like this, but the dream had rattled him considerably and he suddenly needed to know. "I'm sorry. It's just that I had this, ah, when I was asleep I remembered, or I imagined, and um, Damon..." he trailed off, hoping that the strange feelings of fear and loathing he felt each time he thought of Damon were accurate. "Oh god, baby, I didn't realise..." Matt paused, looked away. "Ok. He, um, changed me because you asked him to. And because you gave up something in exchange." Matt spoke slowly, each word measured. "I was in an accident, in LA. Fatal injuries. Damon happened to be there on business, but even if he told you right away, you'd never have gotten there in time...before I died. So he offered you an exchange -- he'd keep me alive long enough for you to come say goodbye, and you would stop seeing Elena. You and she were on a break -- Elena was having second thoughts on marriage, and whether Damon was more her style. And we...we had been having an affair for half a year. Damon just failed to tell anyone his method of keeping me alive was to just change me. But...you had already picked me. Gave up Elena. I think you hated me for a while there, for, you know, having been changed. I wondered if you would have preferred it to just have been a goodbye. But eventually...eventually you decided it was a liveable situation, and so here we are now."
Stefan looked at Matt and hated himself for the dejected slump of his shoulders, his tight frown, the uncertainty in his eyes. "It was worth it," he blurted out, "the exchange, I mean. It was worth it because you're my best friend and my lover and...you make me feel alive, safe, strong, real. And the only thing that I've known with absolute certainty since I woke up is that whatever brought you into my life was worth it. Worth anything."
Matt pulled Stefan hard against him until there was no space between their bodies, each clinging tight to the other. "You know I'd never hurt you, right?" Matt's voice was breathless and strained by emotion. "And that I...uh, I, you know..." Stefan stopped the declaration with his fingers against Matt's lips. "Yeah," he agreed, "me too." Then he kissed Matt, and it was as natural as if it was the only thing he had done his whole life.
It was that time as night slipped into day when everything seemed quieter, more still. Matt was in bed already and Stefan found himself walking through their unlit apartment. "So what's with the jars?" Stefan had asked hours earlier. "I just like owning things. Knowing they're mine, keeping them on display." Matt's reply was offhand and casual. Stefan kept returning to that conversation as he rested his hands against the glass panes of the windows that made up three of the external walls of the apartment. That word repeated itself in his head. Mine, mine, mine. Turning over and over like a key, and he couldn't stop hearing what could have been memory, could have been nightmare. Matt's voice, god, his voice.
"I am going to spend the rest of your life following you around. That was his price, your brother's price for changing me. He's had enough of trailing after you, cleaning up your messes. Gave me his ring and everything. He got new ones made, you know, so his and Elena's match. He's got a wife now, someone he's far more fond of looking after. But he couldn't just abandon you, not with the force of centuries of habit behind him. So I'm it now, your keeper. The only question that remains is are you going to accept that willingly, or will we have to fight? Your brother expects the latter, so he made sure I got a lot of his blood. It's very powerful, you know, he's worked hard on its composition," Matt's lips were pulled back in a grimace of a smile, "so I'm perfectly capable of enforcing what I say. But I think we can come to a compromise, can't we?"
Matt leaned across and untied the gag around Stefan's head, unbuckling the cuffs at his wrists. Stefan watched him and slowly opened his mouth, clearing his throat before trying to speak. "I'm sor..." Matt clapped his hand over Stefan's mouth before he could finish the word. "Don't," Matt's eyes were angry again, "don't ever apologise to me. I'm not the one you owe it to, so don't think you can get forgiveness by saying sorry to me. You never have to apologise to me because I will accept anything you do. I'll be there so I'll know if you meant to do it or not. I don't care about your regret or your remorse. So never say sorry to me."
Matt removed his hand and this time Stefan kept his mouth closed. "So how are we going to do this? The easy way, or the hard? I'm giving you one last chance, because the Stefan I first met deserves that. So this is for him." Stefan looked at Matt, so angry and passionate and bitter. Matt, who had his brother's blood warming his veins. "I won't fight you." The words were soft, resigned. "And you'll do whatever I tell you to." "Yes." "And you won't question my orders." "Yes." "And you'll stay with me to the end." "Yes."
Matt did not smile. His eyes darted over Stefan's face and he must have found what he was looking for because he leaned forward, his mouth a breath away from Stefan's. Stefan did not fight, did not question, did not move, even as Matt's mouth closed over his. He felt Matt's lips parting, teeth resting above his lower lip. Then they were pushing in, slowly, slowly, the skin resisting and denting, before the teeth broke through and blood pulsed out. Matt sucked hard, then pulled away, tongue running over his lips and teeth to catch any spill.
Matt sat up, his hand warm and rough where it encircled Stefan's neck, holding it against the bed. He nodded, expression calming for the first time. "Yes," he said, "now you're mine."
Stefan returned to the bedroom, looking at Matt sprawled out across the dark sheets, all toned muscle and blond hair and creamy skin bleached silver by the moonlight. His ring was on the bedside table, nestled against Stefan's own. It would be so easy to pick it up and run his finger along the inside to check for an inscription. Stefan ghosted his hand over the rings, and paused. What if he found an engraving? Would it mean this life that appeared to be his was false? Would it reduce him to an obligation? A specimen in a jar? Did it matter?
Stefan moved his hand away. There was nothing wrong, nothing distasteful with this life of his. Why shouldn't the appearance be the reality?
He lay out on the bed, pulling an arm across his stomach, resting his head against a shoulder. Matt was solid and strong under his hands and that was enough.
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