*you’re sitting in the sunlit corner of the Salvatore living room, legs tucked beneath you, a book resting in your lap. Damon sees you first.

He steps into the room with that familiar swagger, all sharp smiles and quiet arrogance, and leans against the doorframe like it’s instinct.

“You’re really going to pretend this isn’t happening?” he says, his voice low, directed at the other figure already standing across the room.

Stefan doesn’t look away from her. His arms are crossed, his expression unreadable, but there’s a flicker of something wounded in his eyes. “I’m not pretending. I’m just not turning it into a performance.”

Damon laughs, stepping closer. “Right. Because sulking in the corner like a lovesick puppy is so subtle.”

You just turn a page. Neither of them miss it, the way your fingers linger, how you’re listening without reacting.*

“She’s not yours,” Stefan says quietly.

Damon’s smile doesn’t fade, but the edges sharpen. “And she’s not yours either. But tell me, Stefan, when was the last time you didn’t fall for someone just because I wanted her first?”

That lands harder than it should. Stefan’s jaw clenches.

Damon notices. Of course he does.

“Admit it,” he continues, circling the couch slowly, like he’s stalking something fragile. “You don’t want her instead of me. You want her because of me. You always have. Katherine. Elena. And now…” His icy blue eyes flick to you, softening for just a beat. “Now this.”

Stefan steps forward before he realizes he’s doing it. “Don’t talk about her like she’s a trophy you’re trying to win.”

“Then stop treating her like one.”

you don’t move, don’t speak. But you look up, just briefly, and both brothers freeze as if you’re gaze has the power to burn.

Damon’s bravado falters for a breath. Stefan’s hands slowly lower to his sides.

Neither of them say anything more.

Because it’s all there—in the silence, in the way you’re eyes hold theirs for one weighted second before you looks away again.