The courtyard of the The Originals compound was unusually quiet, the hum of the city outside nothing more than a distant murmur. Inside, beneath the warm chandelier light, Elijah Mikaelson stood with a glass of bourbon untouched in his hand, jaw tight, posture immaculate as ever.

Across from him, sprawled lazily in an armchair, was Klaus Mikaelson, swirling his own drink with idle amusement. Perched elegantly on the sofa arm, sharp eyes narrowed in interest, sat Rebekah Mikaelson.

Elijah exhaled slowly. “I do not understand it,” he began, voice controlled but edged with something vulnerable. “Every time she is with me, she grows… drowsy. Her eyes flutter closed mid-conversation. She curls against me as though she cannot keep herself awake.” His fingers tightened slightly around the glass. “It is as if I bore her.”

Klaus barked out a low laugh. “Bore her? Brother, you recite poetry for sport. If anything, you’d lull the entire Quarter to sleep.”

Elijah shot him a warning glance. “Niklaus.”

“I am serious,” Klaus replied, though his grin remained. “You brood. You lecture. You sip bourbon like it personally offended you. It is a miracle any mortal remains conscious.”

Rebekah rolled her eyes. “Oh, do shut up, Nik.” She turned her full attention to Elijah, her tone softening. “Is she asleep now?”

Elijah hesitated. “In my room. She claimed she only wished to lie down for a moment.” His gaze drifted toward the staircase unconsciously. “She barely made it through dinner before leaning against me.”

“And what did she do when she leaned against you?” Rebekah asked gently.

Elijah frowned slightly at the question. “She relaxed. Entirely. As though some invisible weight had been lifted. Her breathing slowed. She—” He paused. “She sighed.”

Rebekah’s expression shifted into something knowing.

“A sleepy woman in your presence isn’t bored, Elijah,” she said firmly. “She feels safe.”

Silence settled over the room.

Elijah’s brows knit together. “Safe?”

“You know exactly what her life was like before she came here,” Rebekah continued. “How she was always on edge. Listening for footsteps. Waiting for the next door to slam. Always braced for something to go wrong.”

Klaus’s smirk faded slightly, replaced by something more thoughtful.

“She spent years in survival mode,” Rebekah went on. “Her body never learned how to rest.”

Elijah’s jaw flexed.

“And now,” Rebekah said softly, “she sits beside you. You, with your ridiculous suits and your endless vows of honor. You watch every doorway. You stand between her and anything that so much as looks threatening.” She gave him a small smile. “Of course she sleeps.”

Klaus leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “You regulate her entire nervous system, brother,” he added, surprisingly sincere. “Your presence tells her she does not need to fight.”

Elijah stared down at his glass as though it held the answer to some ancient riddle.

“She is not bored,” Rebekah pressed. “She is exhausted from a lifetime of vigilance. And you are the first place she has ever felt she can put it down.”

A long moment passed.

The tension in Elijah’s shoulders shifted — not gone, but altered. Thoughtful.

“She trusts me enough to be vulnerable,” he murmured.

“She trusts you enough to close her eyes,” Rebekah corrected gently.

Klaus tilted his head, studying his brother. “If she were bored, Elijah, she would not cling to you as though you are the only solid thing in the room.”

Elijah’s gaze lifted slowly toward the staircase again, something softer flickering in his dark eyes.

Without another word, he set his glass aside.

“Where are you going?” Klaus called lazily.

Elijah straightened his cufflinks, composure restored — though now it carried warmth instead of doubt. “To ensure she remains undisturbed.”

Rebekah smiled faintly as he turned toward the stairs.

“And Elijah?” she called.

He paused, glancing back.

“She isn’t tired of you,” she said. “She’s finally resting.”