Casual | A Kolvina Story

Kol Mikaelson had three rules for "casual."

He'd laid them out at 2am, Davina's back against the front counter of Original Sin, his mouth close enough that she could taste the whiskey on his breath but not close enough to count.

"Rule one," he'd murmured, voice that London drawl that made her stupid, "we don't tell the shop. Gia would never let me live it down."

Davina, 21 and trying not to shake, had arched a brow. "Rule two?"

"Either of us can end it. No questions." His eyes dragged down her throat. "And rule three..."

His thumb finally, finally brushed her pulse. "We don't lie. If it stops being casual, we say so."

She should've said no. She was his employee. He was 29, flirty, and had "bad decision" written in every line of his tattooed arms. He'd ruin her, probably.

Instead, she'd said, "Okay."

And lied straight to his face.

Because it stopped being casual the first time he fixed her amp without her asking.
Or maybe when he drew a bluebird guitar on her ribs and said "breathe for me, love" like it hurt him.
Or maybe three weeks ago, when she realized she knew his coffee order and the song he hums when he thinks she's asleep.

Casual was Kol's idea.
Falling was Davina's secret.

And it was working.

Until the night Nashville called, and "casual" started to feel a lot like she was about to lose him before she ever got to keep him.