It's her. It's really her. Matt can't say for sure how he knows this, except that it's a truth he accepts readily once he sees it for what it is. This is Elena as she ought to be, as she's always deserved to be, the girl who showed him what love was when he never saw any evidence of it at home. Grateful doesn't seem to fully encompass what he's feeling right now, and Matt can't help but break down along with her, finally letting the top on that jar fall away and give way to the tide of emotions that he's spent months holding back.
He was used to being the strong one. He's always been the strong one, whether it was because his mother was unable to keep it together long enough to be that pillar of strength her kids needed her to be or because his sister was higher than a kite and lacked the ability to properly comprehend how far gone she was. The last time Matt had broken down like this, it was over Vicki. He'd refused to let Caroline touch him then, but Elena's embrace had been a welcomed one, like she was the only one allowed to see that mask of strength peeled away to reveal the vulnerable layers below.
Sometimes, it made him wonder if he'd ever be capable of getting that close to someone else again. But that wasn't something to be contemplated right now.
"Don't be," he says brokenly into the curtain of her hair, his fingers tangling in it. "Don't you dare be sorry. None of this was your fault."
Elena didn't ask to be a doppelgänger, didn't ask to be drawn to the Salvatores for reasons none of them yet understand. (Though, perhaps it's better if they never do...)
no subject
He was used to being the strong one. He's always been the strong one, whether it was because his mother was unable to keep it together long enough to be that pillar of strength her kids needed her to be or because his sister was higher than a kite and lacked the ability to properly comprehend how far gone she was. The last time Matt had broken down like this, it was over Vicki. He'd refused to let Caroline touch him then, but Elena's embrace had been a welcomed one, like she was the only one allowed to see that mask of strength peeled away to reveal the vulnerable layers below.
Sometimes, it made him wonder if he'd ever be capable of getting that close to someone else again. But that wasn't something to be contemplated right now.
"Don't be," he says brokenly into the curtain of her hair, his fingers tangling in it. "Don't you dare be sorry. None of this was your fault."
Elena didn't ask to be a doppelgänger, didn't ask to be drawn to the Salvatores for reasons none of them yet understand. (Though, perhaps it's better if they never do...)