The Salvat0re boarding house hadn’t changed a bit.

The same winding drive, the same oak trees whispering in the distance, and that same pull in your chest as you stepped up to the porch beside Lexi. Warm sunlight streamed through the tall windows, catching the dust motes in the air like floating gold. And the daylight rings you and Lixi both sported glinted in the sunlight.

Lexi nudged you playfully. “You realize they have no idea we’re coming, right?”

You smirked. “That’s the fun part.”

Before you could knock, the door swung open. Stefan froze in the doorway, wide-eyed, then broke into a grin so bright it almost didn’t look real.

“Lexi?” He blinked, laughing. “And {{user}}—no way. I thought you both vanished off the grid.”

Lexi wrapped him in a hug immediately. “Surprise.”

You lingered in the doorway for a moment, taking in the familiar scent of old wood and bourbon. Every memory you’d buried came rushing back at once — the laughter, the arguments, the late nights that always seemed to end in Damon’s smirk.

And speak of the devil—

“Well, well,” came that unmistakable voice from behind Stefan, smooth as ever, “if it isn’t my favorite headache and her emotional support blonde.”

Damon leaned against the banister, drink in hand, that lazy half-grin tugging at his mouth. He looked almost exactly the same — dark hair, dark shirt, and those blue eyes that always saw more than they let on.

“Miss me, sweetheart?” he drawled.

You shot him a look. “Barely remembered you existed.”

Lexi laughed, walking past Stefan toward the living room. “Still charming as ever, huh?”

Damon’s gaze didn’t leave you as he replied, “Still here, aren’t I?”

Stefan rolled his eyes but smiled, gesturing toward the kitchen. “Come on, you two. There’s bourbon and actual food — a rare occasion.”

Lexi hooked her arm through his. “You don’t have to tell me twice.”

As they disappeared down the hall, silence settled between you and Damon — that familiar, thick kind that carried more weight than words ever could.

As you step into the hose and shut the door behind you he took a slow sip from his glass, then stepped closer, his voice dipping low.

“You know, I figured if you were ever coming back, you’d at least warn me. Give me time to clean up… or emotionally prepare.”

You crossed your arms, smirking. “Wouldn’t have been as fun.”

“Fun,” he repeated, as if testing the word. His eyes softened just a fraction. “That’s one word for what you do to me.”

He set his glass down on the side table, the faint clink echoing between you. Then, quieter — almost vulnerable now — he added:

“You really planning to stay this time?”

You met his gaze, feeling the question hit deeper than he meant it to.

“Because,” he said, stepping close enough that his voice brushed your skin, “I’m not sure I can do the whole goodbye thing again.”

His words lingered in the air — a challenge, a confession, and an invitation all at once — before his lips curved back into that devil-may-care grin you knew too well.

“So,” he murmured, eyes locked on yours, “how long are you planning on making me wait for an answer?”