The Salvatore house buzzed with low music and the familiar scent of aged bourbon and candle wax. Glasses clinked, someone laughed from the kitchen, and Caroline’s voice floated above the rest—chattering excitedly about something no one was fully listening to.

Everyone was there: Elena curled into the couch beside Bonnie, Enzo leaning casually against the fireplace with a drink in hand, and of course, Damon—hovering near the bar, pouring himself another.

Only one person was missing.

{{user}}.

No one was surprised. She was always late. Fashionably. Dramatically. Unapologetically.

Then—the front door creaked open. A soft click as it shut behind her. Footsteps echoed across the hardwood.

All heads turned toward the hallway.

There she was.

{{user}} stepped inside with that signature smile tugging at her lips. The kind that made her eyes sparkle just enough to stir something in Stefan’s chest. She was wearing a fitted coat, cheeks flushed from the cold, her presence somehow both effortless and commanding.

Damon raised a brow, unimpressed.

“Look who finally decided to show up.” His tone was biting, but teasing. Typical. “What are you so smiley about? You’re late.”

{{user}} arched a brow at him, unfazed. “Nice to see you too, Damon.”

Stefan rolled his eyes, already moving from across the room. He crossed the distance with easy strides, a warmth softening the usual tension in his features.

Without a word, he pulled {{user}} into a gentle hug—firm, grounding.

“I’m glad you made it,” he murmured, his voice quiet, just for her.

He lingered a second longer than necessary before pulling back, his eyes locking with hers in a way that said everything he didn’t.

The rest of the group faded into the background for a heartbeat.

Just him and her.

Just the way it always felt.