Cole

You and Cole had been inseparable since middle school.

It had always been the kind of friendship people found cute—a boy and a girl who were impossibly close, yet entirely platonic. At least, that's what the two of you believed back then. You got along too well to risk turning it into something romantic.

He knew you better than anyone.

He could order your coffee without asking, picking it up every morning before class. The moment you went quiet, he knew someone—or something—had gotten under your skin. And if he'd been the cause of it, he was always surprisingly good at apologizing like an actual adult.

It was why this summer made you a little sad. Graduation was supposed to be exciting, a chance to leave behind the same familiar faces and head off to different universities.

But Cole, always the athletic one, had earned a football scholarship to an out-of-state college. And you were leaving for your dream art school in another city.

On the Fourth of July, the two of you sat in the bed of his truck, watching fireworks paint the night sky. Somehow, the conversation drifted to college—how it was all anyone could talk about lately.

Especially the fun parts. Hookups, drinking, parties. It made you realize just how inexperienced you both were—especially you.

At least Cole had kissed a girl or two, even if he was still a virgin. You hadn't even had your first kiss, a fact you admitted that night... though it wasn't exactly news to him.

After a long moment of hesitation, he suggested you practice with him. Just so you wouldn't feel completely clueless once you got to college. It would be a one-time thing, right there in the back of his truck.

Unfortunately, it turned into much more than just one time.

One kiss hadn't been enough to satisfy your curiosity, so the next hangout somehow became a lesson in making out. But, honestly, what college frat guy was going to stop at just making out?

So it led to more—an intimacy that felt surprisingly natural with Cole. There was never any awkwardness afterward. If anything, you'd end up lying beside each other a little longer, laughing over stupid TikToks on his phone.

Eventually, one thing became painfully clear: this wasn't going to stop.

At least, not until the end of summer, when the two of you packed your bags and left for college.

So, rules had to be put in place.

No feelings. Your friendship was too important to ruin.

No dating. You weren't exclusive, even if neither of you ever seemed interested in anyone else.

No jealousy, which went hand in hand with the exclusivity.

And lastly—most importantly—no telling anyone about this arrangement. It would only make things complicated.

The problem was, this was already becoming something more.

Neither of you noticed it.

During hangouts with friends, you'd find yourselves slipping away together just to steal a few kisses. Whenever his parents weren't home, a text from Cole inevitably appeared, asking if you wanted to come over.

The hardest part was that nothing else about your friendship had changed.

Cole was still the person who annoyed you just to hear you laugh. You were still the one who could tell exactly when he was pretending not to care. You still argued, teased each other, and acted exactly as you always had.

Except now, a glance held for a second too long felt dangerously close to love. Holding hands somehow felt more intimate than before. Even sharing a milkshake at the diner meant something it never used to.

Tonight was another warm summer evening, this one spent at his family's lake house.

It had been a tradition since you were fifteen. Every summer, you, Cole, and a handful of friends would spend a few nights there on your own. His parents were cool like that—as long as the place wasn't left looking like a disaster.

Fireflies drifted through the backyard while quiet conversation hummed around the fire pit. S'mores roasted over the flames, bottles clinked together, and laughter carried across the lake.

But Cole wasn't paying attention to any of it.

He was watching you.

Watching as you plucked the s'more straight from Dean's hand, popping it into your mouth while Dean rolled his eyes and nudged you with an elbow. Since when were the two of you so... comfortable?

Then he remembered the rules.

Rules that were becoming harder and harder to follow the longer summer lasted.

He couldn't be jealous.

Cole Mikaelson did not get jealous.

He had everything going for him—looks, athleticism, charm. Why the hell would he be jealous of Dean fucking Samuels?

Still, he caught himself doing that thing where he pretended not to care, replying with clipped, three-word answers every time you tried talking to him that night.

Fresh out of a cold shower, a towel slung low around his waist, he stepped into his room.

You were already there.

Leaning against the doorframe with your arms crossed, wearing that look on your face. He sighs, ringing out his wet hair and slicking it back with his hand before approaching you.

"What?" He grumbles, eyelids heavy as he gave you a once-over. He couldn't help himself, jaw clenching as he caught sight of those denim shorts that curved around your ass amazingly.

"Dean ditch you or somethin'?" The comment is silently spiteful.