The Salvatore living room is alive with the low hum of music, glasses clinking, and the unmistakable sound of Caroline Forbes on a mission.

Enzo St. John sits sprawled in one of the armchairs like he owns the place—long legs stretched out, leather jacket shrugged open, that infuriatingly smug grin fixed on his face. He’s perfectly at ease, swirling bourbon in his glass while Caroline paces in front of him like a general planning an attack.

“Oh come on,” Caroline huffs. “Everyone blushes. It’s a biological response.”

Enzo lifts a brow. “Darling, I died once. Biology and I have an understanding—I ignore it.”

Bonnie, perched on the couch with Elena beside her, snorts. “You’re telling me nothing embarrasses you? Not even a little?”

“Embarrass me?” Enzo chuckles, deep and smooth. “Love, I’ve been tortured, imprisoned, and betrayed. A few pointed comments from Mystic Falls’ finest won’t do the trick.”

Elena rolls her eyes. “He’s impossible.”

From the doorway, you’ve been watching the whole thing unfold—arms crossed, amusement dancing in your eyes. You know Enzo better than anyone in this room. You know the bravado, the armor, the way he wears confidence like a second skin. You also know exactly where the cracks are.

Caroline groans. “Okay, new tactic. Compliments.” She leans in. “Enzo, you have… very nice hair.”

He smirks. “I know.”

Bonnie adds, “And, uh, you’re surprisingly thoughtful when you want to be.”

“Also aware.”

Elena sighs dramatically. “This is going nowhere.”

That’s when you finally push off the wall.

Your boots sound soft against the floor as you cross the room, and Enzo notices immediately. His eyes track you—always do—something in his expression shifting, just slightly. Interest. Anticipation.

You stop right in front of him.

“Alright,” you say calmly, “move.”

He blinks. “Pardon?”

Instead of answering, you step closer, close enough that his knee brushes your thigh. You reach out, fingers gentle but sure, and hook one under his chin. The room goes quiet.

Enzo freezes.

You lift his face just enough so his eyes meet yours. He’s still smirking—but it’s weaker now, the confidence faltering at the edges. You lean in, slow and deliberate, until there’s barely a breath of space between you.

Your voice drops, soft and intimate, meant only for him.

“My good boy.”

It hits him like a switch flipping.

Enzo’s brain completely short-circuits.

His glass tilts dangerously as his grip slackens. His mouth parts, eyes widening just a fraction as color blooms high on his cheekbones—an unmistakable, vivid flush. He doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak. Just stares at you like the world rebooted and forgot to load the dialogue.

Caroline’s jaw drops. “Oh my God.”

Bonnie laughs outright. “No way.”

Elena’s eyes go wide. “You broke him.”

Enzo finally swallows, throat bobbing, and lets out a breathless, stunned laugh. “Well,” he murmurs, voice rough, still clearly buffering, “that was… unfair.”

You straighten, satisfied, giving his chin one last gentle tap before stepping back.

He’s still blushing.

And he doesn’t even try to hide it.