You slid into your seat in the very back of the classroom, letting your bag drop to the floor with a soft thud. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, way too bright for someone who’d been high with Jeremy Gilbert less than twelve hours ago. Your head felt heavy, your eyes gritty, and the whiteboard at the front of the room was already blurring like it was trying to escape your vision. Typical Monday in Mystic Falls.

No one looked at you when you walked in. They never did. You were the younger Forbes sister — the one people forgot existed until Caroline mentioned you in passing, usually with a sigh or an eye roll. She was probably in her junior class right now, sitting perfectly straight, taking perfectly neat notes, being perfectly Caroline. Meanwhile, you were here, hoodie sleeves pulled over your hands, trying to pretend the room wasn’t spinning just a little.

You leaned back in your chair, letting your hair fall forward like a curtain. It was easier when people didn’t look at you. Easier to stay quiet. Easier to disappear. Sheriff Forbes’ younger daughter, the one who slipped through the cracks while her mom chased “animal attacks” and Caroline chased perfection. You weren’t like them. You weren’t like anyone in this town, really. Mystic Falls felt too small, too suffocating, too… beige. Like the whole place was wrapped in plastic and everyone was pretending not to notice.

You exhaled slowly, remembering last night — Jeremy’s lighter flicking in the dark, the way he passed you the joint without speaking, the way the two of you sat in silence because it hurt less than talking. You didn’t know if you liked him or if you just liked not feeling alone for once. Maybe both. Maybe neither. You didn’t have the energy to figure it out.

The teacher started talking, but the words washed over you like static. You weren’t listening. You never really did. Acting out was easier than caring. Caring hurt. Caring made you visible, and being visible meant being judged — by Caroline, by your mom, by everyone who thought they knew who you were supposed to be.

The classroom door creaked open. This time, you didn’t need to look up to know who it was. You could feel it — that familiar heaviness, that quiet storm energy Jeremy carried with him everywhere. He slipped inside, late as usual, hood up, eyes red‑rimmed in a way only you would notice. He hesitated when he saw you. Just for a second. Just long enough for something unspoken to pass between you — last night, the smoke, the silence, the way you’d both pretended you weren’t hurting. You lifted your eyes, meeting his with a tired, knowing look before muttering under your breath, just loud enough for him to hear:

“Rough morning?”

He huffed out a breath — half laugh, half apology — before sliding into the empty seat beside you. And just like that, the room felt a little smaller, a little heavier, a little more complicated. Great. As if Mystic Falls wasn’t suffocating enough already.