The first time you see him again, he’s standing beneath a flickering hallway light at Mystic Falls High, flipping through his locker like nothing’s wrong.

Like he didn’t once die with your name on his lips.

Your hands tremble around the edges of your notebook, heart folding inward like paper soaked in rain. It’s been decades — no, centuries — since Heaven cast you down. Since they forced you to watch the one you loved live a thousand lives without you.

And now here he is.

Stefan Salvatore.

Alive. Smiling softly. Not a clue who you are.

You forgot how devastating it felt — that smile. How it hit like sunlight through stained glass, beautiful and fractured all at once.

“Hey,” a voice says, and you look up to find him watching you. Head tilted, brow slightly furrowed like something about you feels… familiar.

Your throat tightens. Your name slips out of his mouth like it’s nothing.

You nod. Too fast. “Yeah. You’re Stefan.”

He smiles again. “We have History together.”

If only you could tell him the truth. You are his history. You are the reason he even survived the bloodshed of 1864. The reason he remembered what humanity felt like.

But you broke the rules. Angels weren’t meant to love mortals — let alone fight fate for them. You paid the price for your defiance. Stripped of your wings. Reborn into flesh. And now you’re here. Watching. Pretending.

“You new to Mystic Falls?” he asks.

“Sort of,” you say softly, eyes searching his face for signs of memory. There are none. “I’ve… passed through before.”

He nods slowly, like he’s trying to place you. Like some distant part of him aches, even if he doesn’t know why.