ꜱᴇᴄᴏɴᴅ ᴄʜᴏɪᴄᴇ | ᴛᴠᴅ x ᴍᴀʟᴇ ᴏᴄ
Noah Lake has it all - to the outside observer, at least. He has the old money, the mansion on top of the highest hill, overlooking the quiet town of Mystic Falls, and the roots of his family burrowed deep in the saturated soil of their town.
He has the mother who smiles at town events, and compliments her talented son, and wears that mask of pleasantry and love so perfectly, none believe it to be just that; a facade; a cover for the hatred his nature has brought out of her.
He has the high cheek bones, the white smile that makes women - who cake their faces in makeup, hoping it hides the wrinkles brought upon by ageing, and the wine they drink to tune out their husbands complaints - swoon, and the height that makes fragile men puff out their chests because they're wider than him, more muscled than him, even if they're not taller than him, and that's all that matters in their minds.
He has the friends - or his approximation of them, at least. Nearly all with names recognised and revered in their small town; Elena Gilbert, Caroline Forbes, Bonnie Bennett, Tyler Lockwood. Introduced through parents who'd decided, because they were the same age, and because they were friendly, that their children had to be friends.
And for most - if not all - of them, that decision worked out. Because they were all the same, as far as they knew.
Human.
Noah was decidedly not, and even if they didn't know it, they felt it. That otherness. That separation that no number of arranged play dates could cross.
So they were friendly, as their parents were, but they weren't friends. Noah had thought otherwise, and the politeness their parents taught them held their tongues and their corrections.
By the time the Originals had caught wind of Elena, Noah was only just beginning to realise this fact.
𝘛𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘯'𝘵 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘴. 𝘈𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘯.