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That hurt, a lot. Stefan fumbled for his sunglasses, even though the evening light was no threat to his now hypersensitive eyes. The room was almost dark, but he could hear Matt's breathing perfectly, changing from the slow regularity of sleep to the lighter, quicker, sounds of a sleeper about to waken. He could turn on the light, leave Matt alone to recover, to—react to this. Maybe that would be kinder.
And certainly a lot more convenient. You really are a coward, aren't you? his mind scoffed. Sometimes his subconscious sounded a lot like Damon.
He already had his strategy in line. Sit, don't stand, but at least a couple of bodylengths away. Out of punching distance, not because Matt could hurt him, but because the automatic lunge that Matt was going to make as soon as he woke would hurt Matt. He might even pass out, from rising too quickly—and from lack of blood, Stefan's mind added guiltily.
He hated to admit it, but he'd taken that much. And even if he'd thought Matt would be interested in the slightest in the only panacea—to take some of Stefan's blood in return, as Bonnie so calmly had—well, Matt had been unconscious by the time it had occurred to Stefan had to offer it.
Some friend you are.
Shut up. He'd probably have been sick all over both of us.
His strategy included his expression. Cool, clinical, in keeping with the doctorimages that Matt's own mind had generated. Authoritative. He was planning to use mindcontrol anyway, to keep Matt on the bed long enough to listen, he might as well implant as deeply as he could the ideas that he was the authority here.
He had his litany down, too. He didn't want to imagine the rage, and bright sickness in Matt's eyes that he'd have to be facing, but he knew what he was going to say, and how he was going to say it.
I told you so was both cruel and necessary.
But then:
"You don't want to talk about it?" Matt wouldn't want to talk about it. "You don't have to. But somewhere, underneath, you're wondering what it all means." And if Matt tried to argue, "If you're not wondering now, then you will be. I was in your mind deep enough to be sure of that."
That would shut him up, all right.
"What it means, then. What it means is that you can never tell what's going to happen with humans and vampires, especially if they have any kind of emotional connection.
Like our connection with Elena."
And that, he considered, was truly a master stroke. Because it was true. The only problem was whether he could get it out without choking over Elena’s name.
"What it doesn't mean may be more important to you." It would be, since Matt would be finished with him by then.
"It doesn't mean you're gay." That was true enough. So far, as far as he could tell, Matt's sexual response had been confined solely to females. He hadn't found any of the conflict in Matt's mind that the tortured, lonely homosexual teenager always had. The need to conform to the norms of a human society that changed its norms every time a vampire looked, and over every national border a vampire crossed.
"It doesn't mean that anything like this will ever happen again." He was pretty sure of that. Matt's own reaction would ensure it, and unless he fell into the grasp of a truly twisted vampire, Matt's only issue would be how to forget.
"You've probably heard the cliché that most boys go through some kind of a homoerotic phase during adolescence. You're older than they usually are, which is just more proof that this isn't normal for you." And all that was true, too.
"And, finally, if it was anybody's fault, it was mine. I knew what might happen, even though I thought your hatred of me"— would Matt be hating him by then—"might prevent it.
And I still went ahead."
Because I didn't think you would, a lonely little voice inside Stefan went on. Because I didn't know I needed it so badly.
But that was the end of his litany, and he knew that Matt wouldn't even want to hear that much.
I've made a friend hate me, Stefan thought again, even as the chorus mocked him for wallowing in self pity. He shut it up by summoning all the coldness he could muster, which surprised him. It was, in fact, pretty damn icy cold.
I've made a friend hate me—and I don't care, he thought, and he could practically feel the blizzard blowing around the thought. I'm going use what made him hate me to save his life.
Matt
"Hnuh?" Matt came awake with a sort of halfsnort, half question. It was dark. He was lying flat on a hard bed, with some kind of lukewarm cloth on his forehead.
"Wha—?" That was a better question. And then memory came back, not all at once, but in puzzlepieces, and fuzzy ones.
"There's a Coke on the floor beside you. You might want to drink it for the sugar.
But it's best not to sit up yet."
