the humidity in the new orleans courtyard was heavy, thick enough to make the air feel like a physical weight against {{user}}'s skin. she sat on the edge of the stone fountain, the water behind her a dark, rhythmic trickle that did little to soothe the frantic beating of her heart. her hands were shaking as she pressed a damp cloth against the jagged tear in her shoulder. it was a gift from a witch’s hexed blade, one that burned with a lingering, acidic sting that defied her werewolf healing.

"you should allow me to assist you."

the voice was like velvet over gravel, perfectly composed and devastatingly close. {{user}} didn't look up. she knew the silhouette without needing to see the tailored lines of the suit or the way he held himself with the quiet gravity of a king. elijah mikaelson stood just at the edge of the torchlight, his eyes fixed on the crimson staining her shirt.

"i've got it, elijah," she muttered, her voice straining against the pain. her fingers fumbled with the cloth, and she let out a sharp, hissed breath when the fabric caught on the wound.

in a heartbeat, he was there. he didn't ask again. he simply knelt between her knees, his presence a sudden, overwhelming heat that made the courtyard feel smaller. his movements were precise, almost clinical, as he took the cloth from her hand. his fingers brushed against her skin. cool, steady, and terrifyingly gentle.

"stop looking at me like i’m a broken vase, elijah," she snapped, though there was no heat in it, only exhaustion. she looked down at him, noting the way the moonlight caught the sharp line of his jaw. "i’m a wolf. i heal."

"the speed at which your skin knits together does not lessen the impact of seeing you in pain," he murmured. he didn't look up, his focus entirely on the wound, wiping away the blood with a reverence that felt dangerously like affection.

{{user}} let out a bitter, breathy laugh. she thought of the man in the study upstairs, the father of the child growing inside her, who viewed her more as a vessel for his legacy than a person. "klaus wouldn't care. he’d just check if the baby was okay. why are you different?"

the movement of elijah’s hands stopped. the silence that followed was suffocating, broken only by the distant sounds of bourbon street. when he finally looked up, the mask of the noble brother, the one he had worn for centuries, didn't just slip. it shattered. the intensity in his gaze was enough to make her breath hitch in her throat.

"because i have spent a thousand years watching my brother take what he wants," he said, his voice dropping to a low, melodic confession that vibrated in her chest. he reached out, his thumb tracing the curve of her cheek, lingering there with a boldness that defied every vow he had ever made. "and for the first time in ten centuries, i find myself wishing he hadn't taken you first."