𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐧𝐞 ⟪♥︎⟫ Elijah Mikaelson

XVII

Jacques wandered through the halls in the Mikaelson compound, all sounds, colours and other impressions numbed by his lack of sleep. For despite he'd been absolutely exhausted last night, after the transcontinental flight, he'd barely slept at all. Not that he'd ever admit it aloud, but nightmares had been tormenting him ever since Leah had disappeared.

Somehow, even after his parents and Elijah's departure, Leah's disappearance was the thing that made him break. He'd been strong through everything, but this somehow made his world fall apart and he detested that it did.

It was probably unconsciously that he ended up standing in front of a wooden door, he didn't know what he'd expect, but Hayley had told him that he was allowed to wander around as long as he didn't go into the garden, the bedroom or Niklaus' painting studio.

With a loud unpleasant sneer, the door handle turned and he pushed the door open, to reveal some sort of a study. All the walls were covered with bookshelves and a couple of paintings, against the back wall was a brown leather chair with a wooden desk in front of it. He didn't know much about books, but by the looks of these, they were quite old. Only one stood out to him, a modern but worn out paperback copy of The Fault in Our Stars, laying on top of the wooden desk.

His fingers trailed over the creak in the book's spine, a lump in his throat as he remembered Leah telling him that it was her favourite book for when she needed a good cry. And even before his eyes roamed further, to notice the drawer that hadn't been completely shut, he realised that he was in fact in Elijah's study.

His curiosity defeated the manners that Leah had once tried to teach him and he opened the drawer without hesitation. And in nothing but his humble opinion, it wasn't as if Elijah deserved to be treated with manners anyway.

There, in the drawers of Elijah's desk, were three single photographs. One of Leah and Elijah, him pointing at her with a smile as she smiles blissfuly, a flower tucked behind her ear. The next of himself, Leah and Elijah, all making funny faces while eating crêpes in a small crêperie in the sixth arrondisement. And last was a picture of Leah again, her eyes closed, hair dripping wet and a small smile that couldn't look more peaceful had they tried.

He remembered when the photo was taken quite perfectly, they'd just visited the Musée du Louvre and Leah had been a bit overwhelmed by all the impressions. Too much input, she'd said, although not as much as the day she'd visited Versailles.

He'd asked her what that was like, having too much input and she'd smiled, almost the same smile in the picture. 'In the society we live in nowadays, everything screams, noise, colour, movement. It's like a lightbulb, a lightbulb of which the wire burns through.'

He still didn't quite understand it, but before he could ask for more, Leah walked straight out of the museum, greeting the pouring rain as if it were an old friend. Jacques had always hated the rain, it was cold and wet, always capable of ruining one's day, but she smiled. She closed her eyes and smiled in peace as the raindrops ran down her cheeks. Her navy blue blouse getting soaked and clinging to her body, yet she swirled around, the wet strings of her hair like a crown of happiness around her.