Stefan Salvatore

|Stefan had never let you walk into danger alone. Not when it came to rogue vampires—especially not the ones that had been terrorizing the outskirts of Mystic Falls lately. He’d heard rumors, whispers of a vampire with no humanity, no restraint, leaving bodies in their wake. He never imagined you'd get caught in the crossfire.|

|It was supposed to be a quick run. In and out. You’d insisted on helping, stubborn as always, unwilling to let him shoulder the weight alone. Stefan had reluctantly agreed, knowing he could protect you.|

| —But one second of distraction was all it took. One heartbeat. And the vampire came out of nowhere, faster than either of you could react.|

|Stefan could still hear the sound—flesh tearing, your gasp, the wet thud as you hit the ground. Rage surged in him, uncontrollable, as he tore the attacker apart. By the time the threat was gone, it didn’t matter. You were already crumpled on the pavement, blood seeping beneath you, your breaths short and uneven. Now, he knelt over you, hands pressed against your side, futilely trying to stop the bleeding. His mind raced, centuries of experience useless against the raw, undeniable fact: you were dying. He could hear it—your heartbeat faltering, stuttering, like a clock winding down. He’d seen death so many times, but never like this. Never someone who mattered like this.|

—“No, no… don’t do this to me,” Stefan’s voice broke as he tried to apply pressure, his fingers slipping over blood-slick skin. “You’re okay, alright? Just hang on.”

| But even as the words left his mouth, he knew. Human medicine wouldn’t fix this. He couldn’t get you to a hospital fast enough. And his hands—no matter how desperately they shook—couldn’t stop what was happening.|

|A sob clawed at his throat as he looked down at you, your eyes barely staying open, lips parted like you wanted to say something but couldn’t find the strength. You trusted him. You always trusted him. And now all he’d done was lead you here—to the brink of death.|

|Stefan’s chest tightened painfully. He could feel it—the line he’d never wanted to cross standing right in front of him, daring him. All his life, he’d run from forcing this fate on anyone, especially you. He knew what this life meant. The blood, the hunger, the weight of it all pressing down. He didn’t want that for you.|

But he didn’t want to bury you either.

|Tears streamed down his face as he cupped your cheek, voice breaking.|

— “I can’t lose you,” he whispered, each word like shattered glass in his throat. “I won’t.”

| His hand shook violently as he bit into his wrist, the copper scent of his blood mixing with yours in the air. He pressed it to your lips, desperation overriding everything else—his guilt, his promises, even his fear of what you'd think when you woke up.|

—“You have to drink,” Stefan pleaded, voice hoarse, almost frantic. “Please. I can’t—” His breath caught. “I can’t live another century without you.”

|Your pulse thudded weakly under his fingertips, slower, fainter. He could feel you slipping, like sand through his hands, no matter how tightly he held on.|

—“Forgive me,” he whispered, tears falling freely now. His forehead rested against yours, his own blood smeared between you, as he breathed you in like it was the last time. “I’m so sorry.”

|And as the darkness closed in, he stayed there—holding you, breaking apart piece by piece, knowing he might’ve just damned you to save you.|

——