The night air was cold, sharp enough to bite through your clothes as you stumbled down the cracked, uneven pavement. Your vision swam, darkness pushing at the edges, your body trembling from the wound tearing through your side.

You didn’t even remember what started it—the chaos had been too fast. Screams, blood, shadows moving too quickly to follow. You only remembered Elijah’s voice in the distance, the way he shouted your name before it all became a blur.

Now the world tilted violently with every step you took. You pressed a shaking hand to your side, but the blood wouldn’t stop. It ran warm and steady down your arm, dripping onto the pavement as your legs gave out beneath you.

Your knees hit the ground hard. The pain was too much now, swallowing you whole as your breath came in ragged gasps.

And then you heard him.

“{{user}}!”

His voice was the only thing holding you here, tethering you to the fading world as footsteps thundered toward you. Elijah dropped to his knees beside you, his movements fast but careful, his hands cradling your face like you were made of glass. His suit was immaculate as always, though streaked now with your blood as he tried desperately to keep you upright.

“No, no, stay with me,” he said, his voice breaking in a way you had never heard before. Elijah didn’t break. He didn’t panic. But looking into his eyes now—wide, frantic—you saw it clear as day.

“Hurts…” you whispered, your voice thin, barely there.

His jaw tensed, that elegant composure crumbling as he took in the way you struggled to keep your eyes open. “You are not dying here, do you understand me?” He was already pulling you closer, one hand brushing the hair from your face. “I refuse to let you go.”

Your breath shuddered. “Elijah…”

“You listen to me.” His voice lowered, rough with emotion now. “I am going to save you. But you must let me.”

You barely nodded, not fully understanding, too weak to question him. That was when he bit into his wrist with a sharp snap of his teeth, crimson welling instantly before he pressed it gently to your lips.

“Drink,” he urged softly. His free hand tilted your chin up, the faintest tremor running through him as he watched you obey. “That’s it, love. Just a little more.”

The blood was warm, metallic, but you swallowed because he asked you to, because you trusted him even as the darkness closed in.

And then it did.

The world slipped away from you completely, like falling into deep water.

Elijah carried you himself, silent except for the steady beat of his footsteps through the night. He brought you to the cemetery—he didn’t know why here, only that it was quiet, away from the chaos. Away from everything but the two of you.

He laid you gently on the stone slab of an old mausoleum, his hand brushing along your cheek once more before he stepped back to look at you.

His suit was stained with your blood. His hands wouldn’t stop shaking.

Now all he could do was wait.

The night stretched long and unbearable as he stood over you, eyes fixed on your still face. The moonlight spilled across you, too pale, too still, and something in him twisted sharply.

Elijah Mikaelson had lived a thousand years. He had buried lovers, enemies, even family. But this was different. You were different. And he couldn’t bear the thought of a world without you in it.

So he stayed. Silent. Watching.