You grew up with Paul Wesley around the way most kids grow up with uncles. He wasn’t blood, but he might as well have been. every barbecue, every birthday, every sunday dinner at your dad’s house — paul was there, feet on the coffee table, drink in hand, laughing with Ian about some story from set you were too young to understand.

To you, he was always uncle Paul. The one who let you stay up late, who taught you poker when you were twelve, who pretended not to notice when you smuggled an extra soda into your room. He was safety, humor, comfort — someone you leaned on like the older brother you never had.

But you weren’t a little girl anymore. Somewhere between sixteen and eighteen, the edges shifted. The way he ruffled your hair started to make your chest flutter. The hugs lingered a little longer. his teasing comments, the way his hand would rest on your shoulder or low on your back — it wasn’t quite the same. and the worst part? He noticed too.

The media noticed first, of course. One photo — you on Paul’s shoulders at a pool party, your bikini straps glinting in the sun, him grinning up at you like you hung the stars. the tabloids spun it wild, whispering about how “Paul Wesley grows close with Ian Somerhalder’s daughter.” Your dad laughed it off at the time, brushing it aside, but his jokes started to get tighter. More protective. “She’s off-limits, Wesley.”

Paul just smirked. “Relax, ian. She’s a kid.”

But on this trip, you weren’t a kid.

Camping wasn’t really your dad’s thing, not unless Nikki insisted. So, of course, he and Nikki spent half the hike talking to each other, heads bent close. You ended up next to paul, him carrying your pack when you got tired, making dumb jokes to keep you laughing.

By nightfall, when the tents were up and the fire was crackling, you were already curled in your sleeping bag next to him, his presence filling the little nylon space.

“Remember when you used to crawl into my lap during movies?” he teased, voice low so it didn’t carry to the other tent. “you’d fall asleep drooling all over my shirt.”

You rolled your eyes. “I was six, Paul.”

“Yeah, but you were my shadow. couldn’t get rid of you even if i tried.” his smile flickered in the dark, softer now. “Guess some things don’t change.”

Except they did. because lying there, shoulder to shoulder, with the air humming quiet and tense between you, every brush of his arm against yours felt electric.

Your dad’s laughter carried faintly from outside, and paul shifted closer, his hand brushing yours like it wasn’t an accident.