ℍ𝔸𝕌ℕ𝕋𝔼𝔻 - ᴛʜᴇ ᴍɪᴋᴀᴇʟꜱᴏɴꜱ

𝖈𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝖙𝖍𝖎𝖗𝖙𝖞

❧ no regrets, right? ❧

≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫

The knock at the door was soft. Two quick taps, a brief pause, then one more. Not insistent, not the kind of knock that demanded attention. It was careful, hesitant, practiced in a way that suggested the person on the other side didn't want to startle anyone, only to be noticed if someone was already awake.

Amalie lay still, staring at the ceiling, her arm resting across her stomach, the blanket half-tangled around one leg and kicked off the other. Morning had barely begun to color the world outside, and what little light there was crept in thin and half-hearted through the blinds. She didn't move right away. Her body was warm from sleep, the skin beneath her shirt slightly sticky with the kind of heat that settled in bedrooms at night. 

The knock came again, gentler than before, like whoever was out there had begun to second-guess the whole idea. She sighed, knowing the moment for staying in bed had passed.

She swung her legs over the side and stood, feet bare against the floor. The shirt she wore was the same one she'd fallen asleep in, oversized, the fabric stretched and faded in the way clothes get after surviving too many nights and washes. Her shorts were cotton and comfortable, fraying slightly at the edges, the elastic beginning to lose its fight. She opened the door, expecting anything and somehow nothing at all, and found Rebekah standing there, her posture straighter than usual, but her eyes uncertain.

There was something oddly formal in the way she stood. Not stiff, but calculated, like she'd rehearsed this moment in her head, and now that it was actually happening, she wasn't sure if she'd gotten the tone right. She wore denim shorts and a plain gray tank top, her sneakers spotless in a way that said they hadn't been worn more than once. Her blonde hair was brushed, left loose around her shoulders, and in her hands were two shopping bags, each gripped tightly enough that her knuckles were just beginning to pale. When she spoke, her voice was light, trying for casual, but couldn't quite keep the uncertainty from creeping in around the edges. "How do I look?"

Amalie blinked once, taking in the whole image, then tilted her head, eyes moving deliberately over Rebekah's outfit. "You look like any other teenage girl in this country."

That answer landed. Rebekah let out a slow breath and nodded, not at Amalie, but to herself, as if validating something she'd been unsure of. The tension didn't vanish, but it loosened. She shifted her stance slightly, and it was then Amalie noticed how she wasn't standing evenly—one foot tucked slightly inward, like she hadn't decided whether to move forward or turn around. It was a small thing, but it made everything else click. Rebekah was nervous. Not frightened, not in danger, but uncertain about her place here, or maybe what it meant that she had shown up at all.

"Wait," Amalie said, brow furrowing. "Did Klaus seriously leave you here on your own?"

Rebekah rolled her eyes and huffed, though the sound came from deeper than it should have. "Yes. He's off chasing wolves." She softened after a beat, her frustration folding into something quieter. "He asked me to stay and keep you company. Not that I needed the prompt."

That last part was delivered like a defense, but there was something genuine underneath it. Amalie let out a small laugh—surprised, not mocking—and it came lighter than expected. "Oh, did he?"

"Yes," Rebekah repeated, sharper this time, but her eyes flicked toward Amalie with something softer hiding beneath the feigned annoyance. "And I came voluntarily, thank you very much."