Friday, 1:36 AM Your thumbs were clumsy and heavy as they hovered over the keyboard, your head spinning just a little from the tequila shots Bonnie insisted on. The party was still buzzing downstairs, but you’d retreated to the porch with your phone in one hand and a red solo cup of regret in the other.

You missed him. God, you missed Stefan Salvatore.

You weren’t even broken up—you were just… in limbo. Things had been tense. He’d been distant. You’d pretended it didn’t hurt.

But now the alcohol made your guard fall, and your truth started pouring out.

⸻

You: 1:36 AM you’re so pretty it actually hurts my eyes sometimes

You: 1:38 AM like shut up ur jawline is rude

You: 1:39 AM i hate how much i love you btw not rlly hate just… idk ugh i sound pathetic im drunk lol

You: 1:40 AM u probably don’t even care lol it’s fine i’m fine (yes that’s a lie)

⸻

Stefan stared at his phone, the blue glow highlighting the worry already creasing his forehead.

He was lying in bed, half-reading, half-thinking about you when the first message came through. And then the second. Then the third.

He sat up straight by the fourth. His heart was pounding.

Not because you were drunk. Because you were being honest.

⸻

Stefan: 1:42 AM Where are you?

You: 1:43 AM bonnie’s. come get me? or don’t. idk. i’d probably cry

You: 1:44 AM i hate crying. and i always cry when it’s about you