1993 — Mystic Falls, Virginia

   The first time she drove a car, Florence Gilbert had a panic attack. Her lungs tightened, her airway closed, her vision began to spin, her heart was out of control. The knuckles on her fingers were white from how hard she held to the steering wheel, and she swore she could hear the constant ringing right at her ears. Her father's harsh words were not helping, especially since he dismissed her anxiety and called her lazy. The first time she drove a car, Florence Gilbert decided never to drive one again.

   "We should stop reading our scripts," Stefan said. He laid next to her on the floor of her bedroom, arms resting in the back of his head, eyes closed, mouth smelling of mint.

   "You know it by heart, I still don't know it," she replied, trying to focus on the script on her lap instead of the boy next to her. Even as her eyes stayed on the pages full of doodles and pink highlighter, her mind wondered towards him, then her eyes would follow. Arms resting in the back of his head. Eyes closed. Mouth smelling of mint.

   Stefan opened his eyes and looked at her. "We can take a break." He pushed himself into a sitting position and let out a huff. "You've been at this since morning; you should take a break."

   "The play is next week," she sighed. "Mr. Marlowe's all up on my ass because I don't know this damn thing!" She let out a groan and squeezed the pages between her hands, crumpling them more than they already were. "I shouldn't have listened to Cher and gone to the auditions. I should have gone to practice like Dad told me." She rubbed her temples with her fingers.

   Florence was never one to speak in front of people, especially in front of all of the town that was anxious to see the daughter of Dr. Gerard Gilbert and the sister of Dr. Grayson Gilbert star in Mr. Marlowe's rendition of Romeo and Juliet. She could speak to a small group of people, her friends mostly, but even a class presentation in front of ten people made her feel all queasy. But, she would be acting in front of the town, in front of her parents, in front of her brother and sister-in-law, in front of Stefan—that made her want to vomit.

   A hand was neatly placed on her shoulder, its fingers giving her a gentle squeeze. "You'll be fine," Stefan said in a calm voice. "I'll be right there. And, if you somehow don't remember the lines, I'll mouth them to you."

   "I'm terrible at readings lips," she said with a sarcastic laugh escaping her lips. "I'm hopeless, Stefan! Can I just quit?"

   "Nope." He answered immediately, not wasting a second. "I can't let you do that, Flo. What if this is your calling, huh? What if you become this big Hollywood actress and end up marrying Leonardo DiCaprio?"

   A laugh escaped her lips, neat and loud, a scoff mixed in there. "Shut up," she told him when she quieted down, the smile still at her lips. 

   "I knew I could get you to smile," he said softly, his hand still on her shoulder. A couple of seconds later, his hand fell and he stood. "Come with me." He pushed both of his hands at her. 

    She stared at them, then at his face. "Where?"

   "You'll see." He wiggled his hands and smiled. Spring in his smile, summer in his eyes, mint in his mouth. 

   They walked down the stairs with Florence asking him where, Stefan smiling and not answering, Mrs. Gilbert in the living room with a book in her hand and an amused look in her eyes. Stefan's car was parked in front of her house, a familiar and comfortable picture to the young Gilbert girl. Inside, it was warm from the summer sun shining down on it, smelling of half-melted mint gum and the tree-style air freshener that had barely any scent there but still managed to get the car to smell new. It was a comfortable feeling for Florence, one that made her feel as if she belonged in the passenger's seat, eyes shifting from the road to Stefan to the the fast-passing trees.

   She reached for the necklace hanging around her neck, cold because of the air conditioner hitting her face. Her fingers felt the design, the gentle design that she had stared at so many times since he gave it to her. At first, she couldn't believe that he actually gave her a necklace. Cher told her that it was a sign of love, and soon a confession would come. Florence played it off, calling her best friend and idiot and saying that friends got each other different things. But, then her mind would wonder back to the time where he kissed her in the very same car she sat in. Did friends also kiss friends?

   "Seriously, where are you taking me?" Florence asked with amusement and annoyance mixed in her voice. "Stefan, if you happen to murder me, I'll have you know that Mom saw me leave with you."

   Stefan let out a laugh. "Florence, I'm not going to kill you," he said. "What I'm doing is something you will thank me for." He turned the car and stopped in an empty parking lot. He turned off the car, turned to her, and gave her a smile. "You're going to drive this car."

   Florence's breath hitched in her throat. She choked on her saliva and coughed, hitting her chest with her hand as her eyes watered. "What do you mean..." She coughed. "What do you mean drive this car?"

   "A few days ago, you got stung by three hornets while riding your bike," he said in a matter-of-fact tone.

   "It's summer, they're everywhere."

   "Florence, you're allergic to hornets."

   She shrugged her shoulders. "I'm not that allergic," she said. "I got home just in time and Mom got my epi-pen."

   "What if you didn't get home in time?"

   Florence Gilbert was allergic to bees, wasps, yellow-jackets, and hornets. One sting and her airway would swell up. But, she got stung three times a few days ago. She was lucky because she was close to home, or otherwise she would have died. It was a lie to say that she wasn't scared that day, that she didn't cry while trying to breath as she rode home, that she didn't sob as her airway slowly closed, that she didn't weep when she could barely breath as she ran inside of her house. She couldn't blame her bike, because she always rode her bike. What she blamed were the neighbours that didn't destroy the hornets nest that was on their mailbox. 

   She shrugged her shoulders and picked her nails. "But, I did," she mumbled. "Stefan, I did. So, I'm fine."

   "I know you're fine, Florence, I'm just..." He took a deep breath and looked to the front of the car. "I'm worried, okay? What if it happens again? What if you're not close to your house and you don't have your epi-pen? What if you died, Florence?"

   Florence shrugged her shoulders. "I don't know," she mumbled, looking out her window. She had never thought of dying, not even when she attended her grandfather's funeral when she was ten. Even then, all she could think about was returning to her friends and living. For a while, dying didn't exist in her vocabulary, not until Stefan said those words.

   What if she died?

   Would her parents mourn? Would her Grayson cry? Would John return to Mystic Falls and attend her funeral? What about Cher, Bob, and Charles? Would they miss her? Wold they mourn? What about little Elena, would she know about her aunt and miss her without even remembering who she was? What about everyone else in town? Would they remember her as the amazing swimmer she was, as the girl who always rode her bike, as the daughter of Dr. Gilbert, as the sister of Dr. Gilbert, as the girl who always followed Cher Gaines around? What about Stefan, would he remember her? Would he mourn?

   Florence Gilbert never did think about dying.

   "Can we not talk about this?" she said, turning to him with hard eyes. "Stefan, let's not talk about this, okay? I'm alive, I'm fine—deal with that."

   He let out a sigh, but nodded. "We won't talk about it, but come on." Before she could respond, he was out of the car and opening her door. "Come on, get out."

   "Nope." She crossed her arms and stayed put. 

   "Florence, don't make me come in there and pull you out."

   "I'm staying here."

   "Florence."

   "Stefan."

   He pushed his way inside the car and unbuckled her seatbelt while she complained. With no effort, he wrapped his arm under her leg and the other on her back, and pulled her out of the car. She let out a scream as her arms automatically wrapped around his neck, her heart accelerating. Her eyes shifted from the ground towards him—spring in his eyes, mint in his mouth, happiness in his face.

   "You're going to drive this car," he said as he walked to the driver's side, "and I'm going to be right next to you, okay?" He put her down besides the driver's door and gave her a smile. "Get in."

   Florence crossed her arm and shook her head. "Nope."

   He crossed his arms and stared down at her, but there was amusement there. "Florence."

   "Stefan."

   He leaned closer to her and laid his hands on her shoulders. "I will be right next to you." His words were soft, filled with safety and confidence and comfort. That comfort in his voice was the thing that made Florence nod and get in the driver's seat. 

   Florence Gilbert's hands tightened around the steering wheel. Her knuckles were white, her breath was in her throat, and her heart was beating faster. She could see her hands shaking, her the ringing begin, and she could feel the nausea rising at the back of her throat. As the ringing in her ear got louder, she shook her head and took her hands off the steering wheel. "I can't," she said. "Stefan, I-I can't."

   "Florence, I'm right here," he said. She couldn't see him, but she felt him shift a bit closer to her.

   "Stefan, I can't!" Her lungs tightened, her airway closed, her vision began to spin, her heart was out of control. The ringing in her ears was loud, she could almost hear her father screaming at her to keep driving. "I can't! I can't! I can't!"

   "Florence!" His arm was over her shoulders, pulling her closer to him. When she didn't look at him, he laid his hands on her cheek and made her look a him. "Florence, hey, look at me." His words were soft, gentle, calming. "Look at me. Breathe with me."

   Her eyes moved from the ground to him. She focused on the way his mouth opened and closed, the way he inhaled and exhaled, the way he breathed. Florence copied his breathing. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. She focused on the cool metal against her neck, the birds singing loudly outside of the car, Stefan's hands on her cheeks, the memory of their quick kiss in the car.

   "I'm sorry," Stefan quietly said, brushing a part of her hair behind her ear. "Florence, I'm sorry. I didn't know..." He stared at her with guilt, with confusion, with a tenderness that caused her heart to skip a beat and her mouth to become dry.

    "I-I'm fine," she stuttered, still focusing on the memory, on the feeling that ran through her. "I'm fine."

   He nodded. "Let's stay here for a while," he said as he laid his arm over her shoulders and pulled her to him. "I want to make sure you're actually fine before we go."

   There was music playing from the radio, a soft rock ballad that she had heard too many times. The air conditioner was high, the cold air hitting her face. Her head rested on his shoulder, her fingers playing with the end of her shirt. In that small moment, Florence Gilbert felt infinite. Arm resting in the back of her head. Eyes closed. Mouth smelling of mint.