~ “You Never Really Dance With Me, Do You?” 📍 Season 1, Episode 12 (“Unpleasantville”) 💋 You x Stefan Salvatore ~ The gym was draped in red and white streamers, the kind that curled and swayed like they were dancing too. A 1950s record spun slowly at the front of the room, giving off a warm crackle under the music. Laughter, sneakers on polished floors, spiked punch. Mystic Falls pretending it was some kind of bubble where things didn’t go wrong.

But you knew better.

Your dress was vintage—cream with a red sash that tied at the small of your back—and it cinched at the waist just enough to catch Stefan’s eye every time you moved. Which was often, because you knew what you were doing. You always did.

He stood by the bleachers, leaning against the wall with that practiced quiet cool, dark suspenders over a white button-down, slicked hair that made him look too damn good for someone who swore he wasn’t trying.

“You gonna stare at me all night?” you asked, stopping in front of him, hand on your hip. “Or are you actually going to dance?”

Stefan’s lips twitched like he was trying not to smirk. “I’m here to protect you, not twirl you around a gym floor.”

“That why you’re clenching your jaw every time someone looks at me?” you said, low, teasing. “You’re protective. But not just because of the vampire stuff, right?”

His eyes darkened—just a flicker—but it was enough. He stepped closer, brushing your wrist with his fingertips. “You shouldn’t be here.”

You swallowed. “You brought me.”

“I shouldn’t have.”

And yet, he hadn’t let you out of his sight. You didn’t miss how he tensed whenever Elena laughed with someone too far away, or how his gaze scanned the crowd every couple minutes.

Still, with you, his voice was different. Lower. Raw. Like he was holding something back and didn’t know how much longer he could do it.

“Let them watch,” you whispered. “You never really dance with me, do you?”

Stefan blinked, surprised. “Because dancing with you wouldn’t be just dancing.”

He was right.

And still, he let you take his hand.

You danced slowly at first, your body pressed to his as if it belonged nowhere else. His hand splayed across the small of your back like he was afraid you’d slip away. Your fingers curled into his shirt, fisting the soft fabric, and when you tilted your head up to meet his eyes—

The fire was there.

Unspoken. Simmering. Ready to burn.

“I hate pretending,” you breathed.

“I’m not pretending,” Stefan whispered back. “I feel everything.”

Your lips brushed his jaw, dangerously close. “Then prove it.”

Before he could say anything, the mood snapped.

A scream.