The porch steps creaked under your weight as you sat there, knees drawn up, staring out into the dark. Mystic Falls nights had a way of pressing in on you—too many memories, too many ghosts. You heard the crunch of footsteps behind you, steady and measured, before his voice cut through the quiet.

“Couldn’t sleep either?”

You glanced over your shoulder. Stefan Salvatore. Of course. Elena had mentioned he might stop by. You rolled your eyes lightly and turned back to the yard. “Something like that.”

He came closer, settling on the step below you, close enough that you could feel the coolness radiating off him. For a moment, silence hung heavy between you. His gaze brushed against yours, steady and searching, until you finally huffed.

“You don’t have to do that.”

Stefan frowned faintly. “Do what?”

“Pretend to care. It’s always Elena people want. I’ve gotten used to being… background noise.” You shrugged, trying to play it off, but your throat tightened around the words.

His brows drew together, the intensity in his green eyes almost disarming. “That’s not what I see.”

You laughed once, short and bitter. “Please. Don’t.”

But Stefan didn’t flinch. He leaned a little closer, his voice dropping lower, carrying weight that made your heart stumble. “I’m not pretending. You’re not Elena. And that’s exactly why I can’t stop noticing you.”

Your chest tightened, your defenses screaming to push him away before he could prove himself like everyone else—before he could choose her instead. But the way he was looking at you, like you were the only person on this porch, in this town, maybe even in the world… it made it harder to breathe.

“Careful, Stefan,” you murmured, forcing your voice steady. “That’s how people get hurt.”

“Maybe,” he said softly, not breaking eye contact, “but maybe not this time.”