･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ fuck you

she tilted her head at his explanation, glancing toward the notebook like she might try to peek inside before deciding against it. “doodles count,” she said lightly. “sometimes it’s less about making sense and more about getting it out of your head.” a small pause, then a softer shrug. “as for me… couldn’t sleep. the city felt quieter out here than it did at home, so i followed that.” her gaze drifted back to him, faintly curious. “you getting anywhere with it, or just making the chaos look organized?”

“Wow,” she said flatly. “I would absolutely hold my ground for at least… forty-five seconds.”

She nudged the charger cord back into place with her toe, reclaiming the smallest sliver of dignity. “And if I did help them plug in, it would be strategic generosity. Very different.”

At the mention of the book, she glanced down at it like she’d just remembered she was supposed to be performing literacy.

“…Chapter Twenty-Three,” she admitted, tapping the page with one finger. “Which, for the record, is a terrible place to pretend you’re casually reading.”

Her mouth curved despite herself. “They just finished that brutal squad battle. Everyone’s injured, pride’s shattered, alliances are messy, and the dragons are judging them silently like disappointed professors.” She exhaled through a soft laugh. “It’s excellent.”

She took a sip of her coffee, then added, quieter, “There’s something deeply comforting about fictional survival being worse than your own.”

Her gaze flicked back to Élodie, soft but steady. “Also, if you call me out on not advancing another page, I will absolutely start reading dramatic passages aloud at you.”

She leaned back slightly in her chair, one brow lifting.

“So. Vibing in public. On a scale of ‘mild existential hum’ to ‘impending emotional collapse,’ where are we sitting today?”

she leaned back slightly, fingers tapping idly against her cup as she considered the question. “somewhere in the middle,” élodie admitted after a beat. “not collapse, just… a steady hum i can’t quite turn off.” her eyes lifted to meet ellington’s, softer now. “being out here helps. it feels like i can pretend it’s just noise, not something i’m supposed to fix.” a small pause, then a hint of teasing returned. “but if you start reading dramatic battle scenes at me, i will absolutely start offering commentary. loudly. i won’t even try to be helpful.”

“Hovering is just love with bad PR,” he repeated under his breath, shaking his head once. “Yeah. That tracks.”

He stayed crouched, weight balanced on the balls of his feet, hands open but loose. Not reaching. Not rescuing. Just there.

Piper pushed herself upright again like the floor had personally insulted her. She took one step. Then another. Arms out like she was commanding the air to cooperate.

Beckham’s shoulders tightened automatically—then he forced them to ease.

“She absolutely thinks gravity’s optional,” he agreed. “I just hope she doesn’t decide consequences are too.”

When Piper tipped sideways this time, it wasn’t dramatic. Just a soft thud and a blink of surprise. Beckham leaned forward instinctively, then stopped himself when she didn’t cry. Didn’t even pout. She just frowned at the floor like it had failed an exam.

“See?” he murmured, voice warm and proud all at once. “Offended. Not defeated.”

He glanced at Élodie, something quieter in his expression.

“I know she needs the falls,” he admitted. “I just—” A small exhale. “I want the world to be the thing that bends around her, not the thing that knocks her flat.”

Piper planted her palms again and shoved herself upright with zero hesitation.

Beckham blinked, a soft, disbelieving smile breaking through.

“Okay, yeah,” he muttered. “She’s got that part handled.”

He shifted slightly, still within reach but deliberately not intervening.

“You’re right,” he added more quietly to Élodie. “She doesn’t need me catching every wobble. She just needs to know I would.”

Piper took three determined steps toward him this time, then pivoted mid-stride like she’d changed her mind and marched toward Élodie instead.

Beckham stared after her for a beat.

“Wow,” he said dryly. “Already choosing chaos.”

But there was nothing but warmth in it.

“Go on,” he encouraged softly. “Test physics. See if it listens.”

she glanced up briefly at beckham, something understanding passing between them before her attention returned to piper. “she’s not going to let the world knock her flat,” élodie said gently. “she’s already arguing with it.” a soft breath of a laugh followed as piper wobbled closer. “and she knows you’re there. that’s the part that matters. not that you catch her—just that you don’t disappear when she falls.” her voice softened further, quieter but certain. “she’ll bend things her way eventually. mikaelsons are stubborn like that.”

“You wound me,” he replied mildly. “I had hoped my conversational abilities were still shrouded in a bit more mystery.”

At the brush of her shoulder against his arm, he did not stiffen — did not retreat into the habitual distance he carried in larger rooms. Instead, he shifted just slightly to accommodate it, an unconscious gesture of inclusion rather than correction.

“You are wise to claim your minute before it is requisitioned,” he said, gaze drifting briefly over the room again. “This city has developed a fondness for asking questions that require more energy than most people can spare.”

His eyes returned to her, steadier now — less observational, more present.

“And if you are to stand alone,” he added quietly, “it should at least be by choice.”

A subtle tilt of his head.

“I confess, I find these gatherings easier when I have someone beside me who understands the difference between listening and being interrogated.”

His tone softened, sincerity slipping through without ceremony.

“You need not have opinions for the entire room tonight,” Elijah continued. “Only the ones you wish to share.”

A faint, almost conspiratorial warmth touched his expression.

“And should the noise grow tiresome,” he murmured, “we can always relocate to a balcony and pretend we are above it all. It has served me well for centuries.”

she exhaled softly, shoulders easing in a way that hadn’t quite happened until he stepped in beside her. “thank you,” she added, more sincere now. “for not asking for anything more than i’ve got tonight.” a small pause, her tone lightening again just enough to keep it from turning heavy. “but fair warning—if we do take the balcony, i’m holding you to actually letting me stay quiet. no philosophical interrogations disguised as gentle conversation.” a faint, knowing look. “just… company.”

“Emotional support accessories,” he repeated, dry. “Great. That’s going on my professional résumé.”

He let out a quiet huff of a laugh when she nudged the bottom of it, shifting slightly so he didn’t drop the whole thing out of reflex.

“Responsible chaos,” he mused. “I’ll take that. It’s better than negligent chaos.”

When she leaned against the wall beside him, he mirrored it without thinking, shoulder a few inches from hers, posture easing like he’d decided he could afford to exhale for a second.

“You confiscate the brain,” he said, glancing sideways at her, “and I’m billing you for therapy.”

But the corner of his mouth softened when she mentioned him needing the day off to actually be a day off.

“I’m trying,” he admitted, quieter now. “It’s just… when you get used to being the one people call, silence starts to feel suspicious.”

A delivery truck rattled past again, and he watched it go like he was waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“Relaxing’s a skill,” he added. “I think I skipped that elective.”

He looked back at her.

“So what does killing time look like for you?” he asked. “Standing here judging my purchases, or do you have a secret, highly effective method for remembering how to breathe?”

her gaze drifted briefly down the street before returning to him, softer now. “killing time usually looks like this,” she admitted. “standing somewhere that feels almost normal and pretending i don’t hear everything i could be doing instead.” a small pause, thoughtful. “breathing helps, apparently. still testing the method.” she tipped her head slightly, a faint smile pulling at her mouth. “but mostly… it’s finding someone else who also forgot how to relax and deciding that counts as progress.”

As they shifted topics, Soren adjusted his seating upon the stone rim of the fountain and danced his fingertips over the cool surface. "I want to understand mortals, not catalogue your people and move on. Mortals are new and unknown to me - and I don't really do the greatest when there's something unknown at play." He remarked lightly. At her question he shrugged his shoulders once. "My parents probably wish I spent some more time at home these days rather than this city."

she huffed a quiet laugh at the mention of his parents, head tilting slightly. “yeah, that tracks too. families tend to notice when you start choosing somewhere else over home.” a small pause, thoughtful but not heavy. “but i think this city has a way of holding onto people once they’ve started asking questions here.” her lips curved faintly. “if you’re going to keep exploring with intent, i’ll upgrade my offer—i know a few places that feel a little less overwhelming. good cider, quiet corners, people who won’t mind if you’re still figuring things out.” her brows lifted just slightly, easy and open. “consider it a local guide perk.”

“‘Internal weather system’ is my new favorite euphemism,” he said. “I’m stealing that. I’ll credit you in the footnotes of my eventual memoir: How to Be Fine in Public and a Mess in Private.”

He leaned back, gaze drifting to the softened light for a moment, letting the quiet be what it was instead of trying to fill it.

“Civilized disasters I can do,” Kolton added. “I’m excellent at looking harmless while people project ominous intent onto me.”

A beat. His mouth curved with that familiar Mikaelson edge.

“And if someone says ‘protocol,’” he went on, “I reserve the right to commit low-level chaos. Nothing that gets us grounded. Just enough to remind the adults that we’re technically a problem they raised.”

He glanced over at her, expression warm, conspiratorial.

“So,” Kolton said lightly, “we sit. We let the silence do its dramatic thing. And we make it everyone else’s problem if they decide to interpret it as plotting.”

“low-level chaos is responsible chaos,” she added after a beat, lips curving faintly. “we’re being considerate, really. character-building for them.” she tilted her head slightly, eyes flicking toward the room before returning to him, warmer now. “and yeah… we let the silence do the work. if people decide we’re plotting, that’s on them.” a small pause, softer. “it’s nice not having to explain the quiet, though.”

Not the magic — not the wind tightening or the air holding its breath — but the way her choice settled into the space between them. The way “during” stopped being a word and became a shared ground. A line drawn not against the storm, but inside it.

His gaze softened, something unguarded breaking through the steadiness he wore like armor.

“Then we don’t endure,” he said quietly. “We shape.”

He turned toward her fully this time, the space between them narrowing until the world beyond the hush of their breath might as well have fallen away. His hand lifted, slow enough to give her every chance to pull back, and came to rest at her jaw — not gripping, not claiming — just anchoring her there with the same certainty he’d offered in every word. His thumb brushed once, gentle, like he was memorizing the reality of her before the storm had any say in it.

“You don’t have to carry the cost alone,” Saint murmured. “And you don’t have to prove you can stand in the fire without flinching. I already know you can.”

He leaned in, forehead brushing hers, breath warm against her lips. The wind quieted, the city’s hum dimming to a distant, irrelevant echo.

“This is me staying,” he said softly. “Not as your shield. Not as your storm.”

A pause — deliberate. Choice made visible.

“As the man who meets you in it.”

He hovered there, close enough that the next inch would be a kiss, close enough that the moment itself felt like a vow waiting to be spoken with skin instead of words.

not when his hand found her, not when his breath brushed hers, not even when the space between them tightened into something that felt like it might fracture if either of them chose wrong. she stayed exactly where she was — grounded, steady — but there was nothing passive about it. her pulse had quickened, betraying the quiet storm beneath the surface, the way every instinct in her had gone sharply, vividly aware of him.

her eyes flicked to his mouth for half a second — not by accident — then back to his gaze, something unspoken catching there. “good,” she breathed, the word softer than before, but heavier for it. not relief. not quite. something closer to recognition. like she’d been waiting to hear it said out loud, to know it wasn’t just something she’d built in her own head.

her hand lifted again, slower this time, deliberate, until her fingers brushed lightly along his wrist where it rested against her jaw. not pulling him closer. not pushing him away. just… feeling him there. real. present. choosing this as much as she was.

“don’t step back,” élodie murmured, voice low, threaded with something that wasn’t fear but came dangerously close to it. “not after this.” her breath caught, barely, then steadied. “i won’t either.”

she leaned in — not all the way, not closing the distance — but enough that the line between them thinned to almost nothing, her forehead still resting against his, her voice quieter now, meant only for him. “we meet it together,” she said, echoing him, but softer, more certain. “whatever it becomes.”

and then she stilled there, right at the edge of something inevitable, not rushing it, not breaking it — letting the moment hold, suspended, like the first drop of rain before the storm finally chose to fall.

“Yeah,” she admitted, resting her forearms on her knees. “A pause sounds about right. Distraction’s a close second.”

She glanced out at the city — the places where it went quiet for no good reason, the places where it refused to — then back to Élodie, a faint, appreciative curve to her mouth.

“Today’s been loud in my head,” Oaklee said. “Not in a dramatic way. Just… too many threads pulling at once.” She shrugged lightly. “Figured I’d come sit somewhere the noise doesn’t ask for anything back.”

Her wolf settled as she leaned into the stone, the cool grounding her.

“What about you?” she asked, tone easy, open in return. “You look like you’re on good terms with the quiet. That a skill, or just good timing?”

she shifted slightly on the wall, angling more toward her, expression softening with recognition. “i get the ‘too many threads’ thing,” élodie added. “it’s like everything wants your attention at once, and none of it’s willing to wait its turn.” a faint smile touched her mouth. “this is kind of my workaround too. sit somewhere neutral, let the noise exist without letting it belong to you.” her eyes flicked back to oaklee, warm, easy. “seems like you picked the right spot for it.”

she took the offered space on the stone wall without ceremony, boots scraping lightly as she settled beside élodie, one forearm resting on her knee. the warmth that followed her was subtle, more hearth than wildfire.

“a pause sounds about right,” violet said, voice low and easy. “distraction too, if you’re offering. i’ve had enough of my own thoughts for one stretch of time.”

she tipped her chin toward the uneven hush of the space around them, then back to élodie, eyes bright with a quiet, assessing curiosity that didn’t crowd.

“as for what brings me out here?” a faint, crooked smile. “sometimes i just need to sit somewhere that doesn’t expect anything from me. no plans. no roles. just… air.”

a beat. she glanced at the ring twisting around élodie’s finger, then back up.

“you always make room for strangers,” violet added, not accusing — noticing. “or did i just get lucky?”

“not always,” she admitted, tone gentle but honest. “just when it feels right.” a faint smile touched her mouth, softer than before. “and when someone looks like they’d understand what to do with the space once it’s offered.”

she shifted slightly on the wall, angling toward her without crowding, mirroring that same balance violet carried. “you’re not wrong, though,” élodie added after a beat. “it’s easier to sit next to someone when neither of you expects anything from the other.” her gaze drifted briefly to the quiet around them, then back. “no roles. no performance. just… being in the same place at the same time and letting that be enough.”

her lips curved faintly again, a touch of warmth returning. “so maybe a little luck,” she allowed. “but i think you picked the spot just as much as i did.”

She rested one shoulder against the stone a few feet away first, then slid down to sit beside her, keeping just enough space to be respectful without turning it into distance. The camera strap lay warm against her collarbone, lens cap still on like she hadn’t fully committed to being seen tonight.

“Yeah,” she said quietly, the corner of her mouth lifting. “A pause sounds about right.”

She followed Élodie’s gaze for a second, letting the city hum fill the space between words. Broken City noise always did that thing where it felt like it was breathing with you if you let it.

“What brings me out here?” Roxy repeated, thoughtful. “Mostly momentum. I was headed somewhere else and then realized I didn’t actually want to be there yet.” A beat, honest. “Sometimes I walk until the noise in my head matches the noise out here. Makes it easier to sort.”

Her eyes flicked back to Élodie, curious but unguarded. “What about you?” she asked, voice low, easy. “Waiting on something? Or just collecting quiet in a loud place?”

“collecting quiet,” she admitted, voice soft but steady. “or at least… borrowing it for a minute before the city asks for it back.” her gaze drifted out across the uneven skyline, following nothing in particular. “i wasn’t really headed anywhere either. just ended up here and decided it was good enough.”

she shifted slightly on the wall, not closing the space but easing into it, like the silence between them had already agreed to hold. “i get the walking thing,” élodie added. “letting everything line up until it makes sense, or at least stops fighting you.” a faint smile touched her mouth. “sometimes the outside noise does a better job organizing things than your own head does.”

her eyes flicked back to roxy, warm, quietly curious. “did it work?” she asked gently. “or are we still mid-process?”

“Do I?” she asked lightly, a faint smirk tugging at her mouth as she stepped closer. She took the offered space on the stone wall, careful not to crowd, one heel tapping idly against the ground. “That obvious, huh?”

She followed Élodie’s gaze for a second, letting the noise of the city blur into background static.

“I think I was hoping the city would be quieter out here,” Nikki admitted. “Or at least honest about being loud.” A beat. “Turns out it’s still doing that thing where it pretends it’s fine.”

Her eyes slid back to Élodie’s, curious in return.

“And you?” she asked, tone easy. “You look like someone who came out for the view and accidentally found a moment instead.”

she shifted just slightly toward nikki, not closing the space, just acknowledging it. “and you’re not obvious,” élodie added, a hint of a smile returning. “just familiar.” her gaze flicked back to her, warm and easy. “i didn’t come out for the view, though. more like i was looking for a moment and this is where it showed up.” a small pause. “looks like it found you too.”

Hands visible. Weight balanced. Eyes clocking exits the same way she had.

Good.

“Your lurking technique is fine,” she said dryly. “You just paused half a second too long. Makes you look like you’re deciding something.”

Her gaze followed his brief sweep of the walkway, noting the mirrored habit without commenting on it directly. When he said he’d had enough trouble for the week, the corner of her mouth twitched.

“Mm. City is generous like that,” she replied. “Always giving.”

At the mention of rent, she huffed a quiet laugh through her nose.

“If I charged rent, this corner would be cleaner,” Stasia said. “And less dramatic.”

She shifted her weight off the wall, not closing the distance but no longer fully leaning either. Neutral ground.

“You’re not blocking my path,” she added. “So you can keep your minute.”

A beat.

“But,” she continued, tilting her head slightly, “people who scan exits and ask about rent usually are not just ‘passing through.’”

Her eyes settled on him, steady and unreadable.

“You running from something,” she asked calmly, “or just trying not to be found by it?”

“neither,” he said, easy but not dismissive. “running implies urgency. hiding implies i’ve got something worth chasing.”

his gaze drifted briefly down the street again, slower this time, less habit and more thought, before coming back to her. “this?” he added with a small tilt of his head, gesturing vaguely to the space between them, the city, the moment. “just taking a breather before the next thing decides it’s my problem.”

a beat, then the corner of his mouth pulled slightly, dry. “though, for the record, if something was looking for me, i’d probably pick a worse place than your corner of nowhere.”

“Warm hands beat high standards,” she said lightly. “I’ve survived whole winters on worse logic.”

She shifted her weight, cloak settling at her shoulders as she glanced toward the nearest stall, then back to him.

“I’ll take survival over disappointment,” Lyric added. “If it keeps the cold off my fingers, I won’t hold the flavor against it.”

A beat—dry humor threading through.

“Any chance this place does better with something spiced,” she asked, nodding down the line of vendors, “or is this the kind of market where you learn to appreciate effort and move on?”

“there’s a guy two tables down who swears his spiced blend is worth the extra dollar,” he said, tilting his chin in the direction. “heavy on cinnamon. little too confident about it.”

he shifted the cup in his hand, considering it for a second before adding, “it’s better than this, though. not by a mile—but enough you notice.”

his gaze flicked back to her, steady, easy. “depends what you’re after. something that tastes like it tried… or something that doesn’t pretend.” a beat, then a slight lift of his brows. “either way, i can point you in the right direction. survival with options.”

“Bad coffee and a useless view, huh?” she said. “Careful, Mercer. You keep talking like that and I’m gonna think you’re asking me to join you.”

She bumped his shoulder lightly with her own this time, easy, familiar, a touch that lingered half a second longer than necessary.

“You’re right though,” she went on, softer. “Letting the night pass without trying to outrun it? That’s a skill. Most people don’t learn it until they’ve burned themselves a few times.”

Her gaze lingered on him, not intense, just curious in a way that felt warmer than professional.

“And for the record,” Charlie added, lips curving, “tailgates are better company than most bars. Less noise. More honesty. If you ever want to practice that ‘doing nothing useful’ thing… I know a spot.”

A beat. Then, dry but unmistakably teasing:

“Bad coffee’s on you, though. I draw the line at suffering alone.”

“wasn’t asking,” he said, glancing over at her with that same crooked, half-apologetic smile, “but i’m not exactly opposed to the idea either.”

he let that sit for a beat, gaze drifting ahead before returning, softer around the edges now. “and yeah… i’ve had enough practice learning things the hard way. figured i’d try something different for once.”

at her offer, something in his posture eased just a fraction more—less coiled, more present. “a spot, huh?” he echoed, like he was testing the shape of it. then, dry again, familiar ground. “alright. but if the coffee’s as bad as you’re promising, i’m gonna need proof you’re not setting me up.”

a small pause, then, quieter but steady, “deal though. i’ll bring the bad coffee. you bring the honesty.”

She glanced over at Julian where he leaned against the hood, jacket open, posture reading done in a language she recognized. Off-duty quiet had a look to it. Shoulders finally dropping. Breath finally going where it was meant to.

“Careful,” she said, not unkind. “The city hears that and takes it as a challenge.”

She stopped near enough to be part of the same pocket of quiet, far enough to keep it optional. The smell of rain and ozone sat low in her lungs. Familiar. Comforting in a way she didn’t talk about.

“Nowhere to be is a luxury here,” Laikyn went on. “People usually trade it for trouble without realizing it.”

A beat. Her eyes flicked to the car, then back to him—habit, not suspicion.

“You heading somewhere you want to be,” she asked, “or just letting the sky do the deciding tonight?”

“yeah,” he said, easy. “sounds about right. say it out loud and suddenly the city’s got plans for you.”

his gaze followed hers briefly—to the car, the street, the quiet stretch of everything—before settling back on her. “honestly?” he added, with a small exhale. “i think i’m letting the sky win this one. feels like the safer bet.”

a beat, then a faint, wry tilt of his head. “what about you—keeping the peace, or just passing through it?”