It was a quiet night in Mystic Falls, too quiet for a house full of vampires.

The Salvatore boarding house creaked with the kind of old, watchful silence that had always unnerved you growing up — even more so now, after you’d returned. It had been decades since you’d walked these halls, since you’d heard the groan of the stair under your heel or smelled the familiar mix of aged wood and bourbon. Damon and Stefan had changed—less reckless, more guarded—but not when it came to you.

To them, you were still the little sibling. The baby Salvatore.

You were centuries old and still treated like glass.

Which is exactly why you were walking on your toes now, boots in hand, coat bundled under your arm, trying to avoid even the slightest creak on the floorboards.

Of course, you never had that kind of luck.

“Going somewhere?” Damon’s voice sliced through the silence.

You froze.

He was at the bottom of the staircase, drink in hand, casually blocking your path like he’d been waiting for this moment all night.

You sighed and came down the last few steps, slipping your boots on slowly. “Out.”

“That’s funny, because ‘out’ usually means something a little more specific,” Damon said, tone deceptively casual. “Out with Gilbert, maybe?”

You didn’t answer. You didn’t have to.

He straightened, his smirk fading. “Seriously?”

“He asked,” you said simply, voice even, brushing a strand of hair out of your face. “I said yes. It’s not complicated.”

“Of course it’s complicated,” Damon snapped, the glass in his hand tightening just a little. “He’s a Gilbert. He’s Elena’s brother. He’s a hunter. And you’re—”

“I’m not a child, Damon,” you cut in sharply. “You can stop saying that without saying it.”

From the doorway behind him, Stefan stepped in quietly, arms crossed over his chest, his expression unreadable. He didn’t say anything. That was his thing—let Damon blow up first, then come in with the lecture.

You looked between the two of them and sighed. “Look, I’m not asking for permission. I’m just leaving.”

Damon moved in front of the door, blocking your path.

“No, you’re not.”

You raised your eyebrows. “Seriously?”

“You think I’m going to let you sneak off into the night with the town’s most resurrected human? Not a chance.”

“I can take care of myself.”

“You shouldn’t have to,” Stefan said softly.

You turned to him, blinking. He looked pained, hands buried in his pockets.

“He’s not going to hurt me, Stefan.”

“That’s not the point,” he murmured. “You left once. A hundred years with no word. We thought you were gone for good. And now you’re back and… we’re scared we’ll lose you again. That he’ll make you want to run.”

You looked between them, the weight of their fear written plainly across their faces. It wasn’t about Jeremy. It was about losing you again. About losing what little family you all had left.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you said, quieter this time. “But I’m not going to stop living just to make you feel better.”

A knock came at the door then—three short taps.

Right on time.

Jeremy.

Damon turned toward the sound, jaw tight.

You reached out and rested a hand on his arm. “Please. Don’t make me choose.”

That stopped him.

After a long pause, he stepped aside, silent but clearly still unhappy.

You opened the door. Jeremy stood on the porch, two coffees in hand, that crooked grin already in place.

His expression softened when he saw you. “Hey.”

“Hey,” you replied, voice a little lighter now.

He glanced over your shoulder at the tension still hanging in the house. “Everything okay?”