Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
❧ why have a master plan when you can ruin everyone else's master plan? ❧
≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫
The morning sunlight poured through the tall windows of the Salvatore boarding house, casting long, golden shadows across the polished floors. Damon leaned lazily against the doorframe of the library, his fingers wrapped around a glass of bourbon. He took a slow sip, his sharp eyes following Stefan as his brother moved with deliberate care, sorting through a stack of old books, his movements methodical as always.
Stefan had always been a creature of ritual. Every morning, he buried himself in tasks, grounding himself in the mundane to keep the chaos of their world at bay. Damon, of course, found it all amusing.
"You're awfully quiet this morning," Damon remarked, his voice casual but laced with curiosity. "Not that I mind the silence."
Stefan barely looked up from his books, his hands moving steadily. "Just trying to get ahead of things," he replied, his voice even. "What's on your mind?"
Damon set his glass down on a nearby table, the faint clink breaking the stillness. His expression shifted, a flicker of something more serious crossing his features. "I met someone last night."
Stefan didn't react at first, his focus still on the stack of books. "You meet people every night, Damon. Try to narrow it down."
Damon smirked, but there was an edge to it. "This girl...Amalie."
That single name changed everything. Stefan froze, his hand hovering over the books, tension flooding through him. Slowly, he set the book in his hand down, his fingers curling against the wood of the table as if it might anchor him. His back straightened, and he remained still, as if the very air around him had thickened.
"Amalie?" Stefan repeated slowly, his voice catching in his throat. The name hung in the air like a ghost.
Damon caught the shift immediately, his smirk fading into something more curious, his eyes narrowing as he studied Stefan's reaction. "Yeah," he said, his tone sharper now. "Amalie. You know her?"
Stefan turned, his eyes distant, confusion written plainly on his face. "I...I knew her," he murmured, the words heavy with a pain he thought he had buried. "A long time ago."
Now Damon was fully engaged, his interest piqued. He hadn't expected this level of reaction from Stefan—there was something haunted in the way his brother said her name, a shadow that had clearly followed him for years. Damon straightened up, folding his arms as he took a step forward, his tone probing.
