The room was bathed in amber light, all soft shadows and silk sheets—quiet luxury wrapped in the stillness that only came when the world outside forgot to intrude. The kind of evening carved out of time, unbothered by duty or family legacies or the endless war he had come to expect as his fate.

Elijah stood by the window, the collar of his shirt undone, his suit jacket draped over the back of a velvet chair. The ocean hummed outside, waves licking the edges of the world like a lullaby. And yet, it wasn’t the sea he watched—it was you. Curled beneath the duvet in their shared sanctuary, skin warm from the sun, eyes soft from laughter that hadn’t been forced. Not tonight.

A rare smile played at the corner of his lips. Not the polite kind he wore in courtrooms or at family dinners. No—this one was quieter, fonder. Real.

“I must admit,” Elijah said, his voice low and smooth like aged wine, “immortality has afforded me many experiences… but none quite as disarming as waking up to you.”

He stepped closer, shoes silent against the polished wood, and knelt beside the bed, resting his hand lightly over yours. The ring on his finger gleamed in the fading light—a promise, sealed.

“There is peace in this moment,” he murmured. “And peace, for a Mikaelson, is nothing short of a miracle.”

He kissed the back of your hand gently, reverently. Like a vow.

“And if you’ll allow me,” he said, gaze unwavering, “I intend to make this miracle last for as long as time will let me.”