Severed Heaven (Niklaus and Elijah Mikaelson)

Chapter Twenty: The Epiphany

1312, France

When had I ever lost myself so effortlessly? It was a curious question that haunted my mind when I watched him paint. I stood in the doorway, and he appeared to be too focused to notice my sudden and unexpected attendance. I was never down here, at the Mikaelson home, but now that I was I couldn't hide my curiosity. It used to be an abandoned place, something more of a farmhouse, but they seemed to have managed it back into proper state. It was lovely, and it was quiet here. It was a long way from home, from the village.

I decided to knock, and when I did, he looked at me with smirk on his face; yes, he'd drawn me here, and he knew it. It satisfied him that I'd came looking for him, because I couldn't be without him for too long. "Can I come in?" My voice quietly echoed through the room.

Niklaus gave me a not of approval, returning to the canvas in almost a hurry. As he remained silently seated on a stool, I found myself taking the most distracting footsteps he'd probably ever heard in his life. I gave myself the opportunity to look around without having to feel guilty about being so insanely inquisitive. Paintings stood lined up against the walls, most of them framed in gold. My heart skipped a beat when I realised he was secretly looking at me, and at the same time I could still hear the strokes of his brushed against the canvas.

I even urged myself to let down my inhibitions to show him my appreciation the way everyone else was showing theirs, but I wasn't like everyone else, and I also did it so none might suspect I nursed sorrows of a far more secret and desperate kind— until I realised, to my shame, that part of me didn't mind this silence, that there was even something almost exciting in the thought of his impatient, and frustrated body finally showing up at my shores. I wasn't fooling myself. I was convinced that no one in the world wanted him as physically as I did; nor was anyone willing to go the distance I was prepared to travel for him. No one had studied everything about him, his ankles, knees, wrists, fingers. No one lusted after his every touch. No one loved his voice, his mind, and his heart more than me.

Standing behind him, I looked over his shoulder at how roughly his brushstrokes were. It was a mess of starless colours, yet it made perfect sense to be looking at it. "Looks promising." I said, and placed my hands on his shoulders. His hair tickled the skin of my fingers.

It looked like I was the one to realise that I'd never made such a move before. My touch on his shoulders seemed so common to him, and it did not seem to be an inconvenience, so I let them rest. He doled out his attention on me whenever he pleased, focused on the art, which I adored and loved. "I have to disagree, love." He said with a deep and frustrated sigh. I wanted more of this, of these sweet moments.

"You're stress painting, aren't you?" I always tried to keep his movements within my field of vision. I never let him drift away.

Niklaus emptied his hands, and turned to me. I lifted my hands off his shoulders. "It's that obvious?" He sighed, looking up at me with those blue eyes, his nether lip stuck between his teeth.

I smiled weakly. "I'm afraid so." I said. He took my hand, rubbing his thumb over its back. It might be our most rememberable moment so far, and I wouldn't let it escape just yet. I wanted this to last. I wanted to be able to mesmerise this moment even ten years from now. The glinstering in his eyes told me that he wanted the same thing, and that he was going to make this last, but was I?

Bringing my hand up to his mouth, he kissed the back of it lovingly, never breaking eye-contact. I'd never fallen for anyone like this, someone so dark, yet gentle and affectionate. I found the courage to consider the fact that he might only be this way with me, because I knew that he could be reckless, paranoid, and rash. I knew that he wore two faces, and I knew that he was secretive, intense, and distrustful. It all made up for these moments. It was all incredibly perfect when we were together, and when he looked at me with those eyes, those damned eyes, I knew I wouldn't be able to let go— no matter how wrong, no matter how right.