Asher (Completed)

Hazel Brown Eyes

Asher's POV 

Hazel brown eyes;

All I could see was hazel brown eyes, her tears barely visible beneath the ocean waves.

It was her hazel brown eyes but they’d lost that golden glow, instead they looked lifeless, dead.

No, why are they dead.

Raine; she’s calling out to me, screaming and making the currents around her pulse.

She’s in pain. She’s drowning. She’s dead.

I woke up screaming, tears rolling down my cheeks. I grasped the sheets in my hands trying to calm down; Raine .

I moved to the left side of the bed where my alarm clock lay on the bedside table; 2:40 am. I had barely slept two full hours, I couldn’t close my eyes long enough to not see her.

I laughed bitterly at my predicament, maybe this was just the punishment I deserved, the karma for my carelessness that led to her death.

I pushed myself off the bed, walking over to the wardrobe, digging out my tracksuit and black tank top. I was going to do the one thing I seemed to do best in response to everything and anything involving Stormy; running.
 


I slammed the door behind me following the smell of what I perceived to be waffles and pancakes over to the dining room.

I smiled widely as I saw Alistair sitting at the left side of the table, using his drawing pad while Martha continued to add to the already incredible food spread.

“Shyeanne my love, I have missed you so much” 

I said extending my arms to give a hug to the older, five foot three chocolate skinned professional chef, who had been working for the Mikaelson family for a decade.

She rolled her eyes pushing me away “I’ll believe that when you actually call, my food is what you’ve missed”

I chuckled, glancing down her curvaceous frame flirtatiously “Maybe it's because you always look better with time, gorgeous”.

She pushed me back again and snorted “Eat your food, unlike you I actually have things to do”, she replied walking back towards the kitchen.

As she left, Alistair finally looked up from his drawing tablet, his shoulders vibrating with laughter while he shook his head back and forth at me “Dude, she is literally thirty five years old now, when will you give up?”

I smirked, “Age never beats beauty, man; Besides you know I’m playing” I ended, growing somber again, the weight of the previous night and my lack of sleep falling back on me.

Alistair cocked his head to the side, taking a long look at me “I’m going to tell Maxwell to move your things to my room; it’s a master bedroom for a reason”

As he spoke, I felt like a huge weight had been lifted off me, I couldn’t be any more thankful that I had someone like him in my life “Alistair, I don’t know how I’m ever going to repay you”

He frowned and crossed his arms “Why would you need to repay your best friend for giving you a place to sleep? Besides it's actually more selfish, if you continue with these sleepless nights all I’ll do is worry and I’ll get wrinkles and then what would that do for my image as a musician and model?” He finished throwing his hands up in mock frustration.

I smiled “Yeah okay, so what are we going to do today?”

He grinned brightly “I’m so glad you asked, my insomnia prone friend; today I’m going to show you my favourite place here”.
 
.................................................


I shook my head slowly staring at the quaint little coffeehouse in front of me “A coffee shop? You Alistair Morgans chose a tiny, red bricked coffee shop to be your favourite scene in New York?” I questioned with a raised eyebrow.

He grinned brightly, “Hey, don’t knock it, until you try it. It doesn’t look like much but it does have its…appeal” He said swinging glass door open and hitting the twinkling bell hung over it.

I rolled my eyes and followed him in, taking in the little space inside.

My eyes roamed every nook and cranny, it really wasn’t much but the more I moved around I understood.
It wasn’t so much what eyes saw, as to what your mind and body felt; the coffee house was reasonably busy, but everyone was quiet, in their own world.

There was a certain tranquillity that came with low midday lighting, moderately audible 90’s pop music, the smell of coffee beans and buttery baked goods. The heat of the shop itself added to it all gave a warmth, it was quiet, homely and peaceful.

I smiled what was probably my first genuine smile in days, as I followed Alistair to what I assumed was his usual seat, a corner table tucked away in the back, slightly facing the counter.

I took a seat across from him, picking up the sugar condiment bottle, spreading it all over the napkin placed on the table.

Alistair scoffed “I see you still have this habit”

I frowned “By this habit do you mean my moderate anxiety disorder?” I asked, tilting my head.

He rolled his eyes.

I took one more look around “You were right about this place; it does have its appeal”. 

Alistair smirked smugly, a hint that he  was about to give a reply to match, when someone beat him to it.

“Really? I’m not so sure I see it”

At the sound of the distinctly familiar British accent, I looked up so fast I gave myself whiplash. “Ian?”