Bloom || HOPE MIKAELSON x RYAN CLARKE

12] KNOW THY ENEMY

Today was no unusual day for the last heir of the Mikaelson House.

Hope woke up with a start, her heart doing somersaults in her chest and her stomach flipping on itself, swamped with unknown creatures fluttering in the pit of her gut. The displeasure wasn't exactly new, but the heaviness that weighed on her heart lessened considerably as she looked around the place, half expecting an ancient witch to jump her.

Relief washed over her as she realized that she was still in her room, comforting arms secured tight around her.

Sighing, she leaned into the warm embrace and clutched Ryan's shirt in her fist, as if to make sure that he was real.

Her actions caused him to stir but he made no other movement except for a sudden still as she held her breath.

In the short time they'd spent together, he'd installed a small routine of sorts. It always began with him waking up first. Then, he would either startle her with his movements or watch her as she slept. He could do the latter for hours without tiring, because Hope asleep was everything he'd been deprived of. Peace. Happiness. Contentment.
There was not a furrow of her brows, a clenched fist or even a slight quirk to her lips when she slept. There was no flaw in that sight.

She found it almost endearing that the roles were reversed this once.

Now that she had control over the situation, she took her time to look at him, absorbing every detail and carving them in her memory forever.

She tried to find any detail that would make him less perfect; from a small trail of saliva to a loud snore; to no avail.
His chest rose and fell with every breath he took and his lashes trembled lightly as he dreamed, his pout drawing her eyes to his lips.
In other words, he was utterly and completely perfect.

Reaching up, she tucked an untamed curl behind his ear and held it there, stroking his cheek and further down until she reached his neck. She wanted to carve this specific image in her mind and heart forever, before he left.
Because he would.
Everybody ended up leaving her -it was just a matter of time, and she lay awake at night sometimes, counting down the days, for fear of waking up to an empty bed.

This feeling was heart-wrenching.

Her sigh came out trembling and in the heat of the moment, she mumbled the words quietly, only loud enough for her to hear.

Suddenly, he stirred and opened his eyes and for a terrifying second, she feared that he might have heard her.

''Good morning,'' he mumbled, voice still heavy with sleep.

''Hi.'' she answered back, tracing a line on his chest. She'd fallen asleep with the soft thrum of his heart and woken up to it, but it was a pattern she didn't mind at all -even worse, she relished it, sought it in the dark when all hope was lost.

''How are you up so early?'' he asked, casting a glance at the clock on the nightstand. He groaned but made no move to wriggle out of her hold or even go back to sleep.

''It's really not early,'' she snickered against his chest, ''And I'm hungover. What's your excuse?''

''I had a late night. I had to make sure you didn't choke on your own-'' she smacked his chest, cutting off whatever it was he was about to say. A laugh bubbled from his chest and she propped herself on her elbow to see him better, palm still flat against him. She almost wanted to say it again. Almost.

''What?'' he asked, feeling her stare.

To her mind, his bedhead was a sight for sore eyes and his boyish grin was so kissable that she found herself unable to look away.