You’d known Paul forever. Not in a way that made it easy — if anything, it was the exact opposite. Your parents had been friends for years, both Polish, both stubborn as hell, and naturally that meant you and Paul had grown up bumping into each other at family dinners, name days, christenings — all the kinds of events that smelled of pierogi and vodka and old aunts pinching cheeks too hard.

And for whatever reason, you and Paul never got along. No one could quite remember why. Maybe it was the fact that when you were ten he shoved you into the lake “as a joke” or maybe it was the way you called him a wannabe American heartthrob when you were fifteen. The two of you never admitted it out loud, but there had always been a sharp edge to your banter, something competitive, almost like you were both constantly daring the other to slip first.

So when the casting for The Vampire Diaries came through — you as Elena Gilbert, him as Stefan Salvatore — you nearly lost your mind. Playing love interests with Paul Weasley? The boy who once told you he hoped you’d trip on stage during a recital? The boy who could make your blood boil just by breathing too close? It felt like the universe was pulling some cruel prank.

You’d been furious, stomping around your apartment, ranting to anyone who’d listen. But the thing about actors — the thing about you and Paul — is that the second the cameras rolled, something shifted. And not just because it was your job. It was as if all that history, all those sharp words and years of not getting along, melted into something else entirely when you looked into his eyes on set. Suddenly, the tension wasn’t just irritation anymore. It was… chemistry.

Dangerous chemistry.

The first time you shot a real scene together — the one where Elena and Stefan meet outside Mystic Falls High — you swore you saw it in his eyes too. That flicker. That moment where fiction blurred just enough to make you forget the cameras. And when the director yelled “Cut!”, the old Paul — the one who’d teased you senseless as kids — was gone. Instead, he smiled at you, genuine, almost shy.

It was an instant switch.

Off-set, things changed. You started hanging out, not because the producers told you to build chemistry, but because you wanted to. Late-night rehearsals turned into grabbing coffee, which turned into laughing over Polish swear words in between takes, which turned into you both reminiscing about those awkward summers when your families made you sit at the kids’ table together. Somewhere along the way, the sharpness dulled. The tension softened.

And now here you were, standing on set in the middle of another long day of shooting. You were in Elena’s bedroom — well, the set of Elena’s bedroom — with a crew scattered quietly in the shadows. The script called for a tender moment. Stefan was supposed to comfort Elena, brush her hair back from her face, hold her, kiss her forehead. A scene you’d rehearsed, sure, but now… it felt different.

“Ready?” Paul asked softly, leaning in just a fraction. His voice was lower than usual, almost careful. His blue-green eyes flickered with something unreadable, not quite Stefan but not quite Paul either.

You nodded. Too quickly, maybe. Your heart thumped too hard in your chest.

“Action.”

And suddenly he was Stefan — or maybe he wasn’t. His hand brushed your cheek like he’d done it a thousand times. His eyes locked on yours with that kind of raw devotion that felt too real. And when he leaned forward, pressing his lips gently to your forehead, something short-circuited in you.

It wasn’t acting anymore. Not really.

The director’s voice rang out, “Cut!” but Paul didn’t move right away. His hand lingered a second too long on your face. His eyes searched yours in the silence that followed. You both froze, caught in that dangerous space between make-believe and reality.