Curse of Ravens // Mikaelson

39 Da du kysset meg

The music pounded through the room. Smoke was in the air and the smell of cheap perfume and alcohol lingered. The students seemed to understand that Alaric was in mourning, so they could get away with more. The first couple hours was hardly bearable. The number of people who approached me to say happy birthday seemed to have forgotten that my mother was put into the ground not long ago. After that, students sank too deep into their cups to even realize they were celebrating the Mikaelson girl's birthdays.

That's when I hid away into the stoner's room and put my feet up. Everyone in here was either smoking or making out. After realizing that no one even cared to notice me here, I even pulled off my shoes. I leaned against the back of the couch and looked up at the ceiling. I watched the smoky air swirl above me. The sweet earthy scent of marijuana filled my nostrils. The music wasn't so loud in here, I could actually hear myself think.

Last I checked, Hope was playing board games with Landon and a number of other friends. For some reason I didn't feel like playing monopoly. I needed to find Penelope, that's the only reason why I came here anyway. Yet I still sat on the couch, unable to will myself into action. My eyes closed.

I was exhausted from magic and keeping myself busy. My entire self needed a break, a release from work. But once I did that, I was afraid that it would all crush me. The weight of everything. I sat there for at least forty minutes in solitude and peace until I felt even a little bit more ready to socialize. I was still needing a break, maybe an entire night off. But this was not the place to do it.

I opened my eyes and blinked a few times, trying to wake my senses. Maybe it would help get me off my ass. Sitting not far from me, Aleksandr picked at the chipping nail polish on his fingers.

"What are you doing here?" I asked him.

"Here as in... the physical plane of existence or this room?" He met my gaze. His hair was braided back in Viking style, and his eyelids were darkened with kohl. He wore a tee shirt and black pants, which seemed too casual compared to his typical daily attire. In fact, the last time I saw him in a tee shirt was in New Orleans.

It struck me how my question might've sounded negative, since Aleksandr attended school here and he was attending this birthday party to celebrate. He walked over to sit beside me on the couch. I turned slightly to face him, propping my arm up on the back of the couch to hold my head. Both of my feet came up to crisscross.

One smell told me he hadn't been drinking or smoking tonight. He leaned against the couch and scanned my face. I stared back, eyes catching on his strong jawline and the way the kohl made his colored eyes pop brighter. The way that the dim lights made his black hair shine like oil. There was also the darkness under his eyes that I mistook for kohl initially, and then recognized it for what it is.

"Hvordan har du sovet?" I asked. How did you sleep? There was a compelling temptation to reach out, make some sort of physical connection with him. To extend a hand to touch his. To shift closer so I could reach his shoulder with my crooked elbow. I didn't know when it begun or if the temptation was always there, but it felt so necessary. I couldn't remember if I ever didn't feel like this or simply didn't notice it.

"Like a baby." He replied sarcastically. "Hva tenker du på?" What are you thinking about?

I shook my head. "You're the warlock with a proficiency in Signature magic. Fortell meg." You tell me.

"Jeg kan ikke lese tanker." I can't read minds. He retorted with a little grin. I bit my lip, eyes flicking to his lips. They were pink and damp, shiny under the light. Aleksandr moved his hand to casually lay on my knee. Turns out I'm not the only one who feels the need to make contact.