Makeshift Home | Elijah Mikealson x Reader

7

You awoke in the morning, your eyelids heavy and your mind clouded with sleep. You squirmed in the bed, grabbing the spot next to you. All you know was that there was a warm presence in the bed that you were searching for. You mumbled when you didn't find that warmth you were searching for, pulling the covers over you more. You finally gave up and opened your eyes, ready to start looking for it.

What were you looking for exactly?

You sifted through your head, trying to remember what happened last night. That's when you remembered falling asleep with Elijah cuddled up next to you in bed. You blushed and smiled a little.

Your smile, however, fell when you didn't see Elijah still next to you in the empty spot he was laying in. Maybe he decided to go back home when you fell asleep. It made sense, you did ask if he could stay until you were asleep.

You sighed and sat up in the bed, pulling the covers down to cover your lap and sitting up against the headboard of your bed. You looked over on your nightstand and reached for journal with a small smile. Your hands brushed the cover and a thought popped into your head.

Or maybe it was a memory. You weren't sure. You're mind was so hazy at the time, it could have been a dream or reality.

For some odd reason, you remember hearing someone tell you that they loved you. But who else would have been able to say that to you last night while you were in the bed.

Now you knew it was a dream. Elijah didn't love you, you'd be amazed if he did.

The only question on your mind now was why you would dream of Elijah telling you those words. You didn't have feelings for him, did you? You had only known him for roughly three weeks, you can't already have feelings for him, can you?

You shook your head of those uncertain thoughts and took breath, grabbing your pen and writing in the journal to greet your soulmate.

Good morning. How was your night?

You waited for a reply, looking around your room and listening to the quiet of the house. Well, mostly quiet. You were pretty sure Maya was in the kitchen getting a bowl of cereal. The small clattering stopped after a moment and you assumed she finally finished.

It was well, how was yours? Did you sleep all right?

I did. Really well, actually. I'm sorry I didn't write last night. I was really tired. ?$%6 left %3&= at the park by herself and I almost lost her. I was so tired when I got back I passed out. &5#]!4 was there, he was actually the one who found her.

You sighed as the names turned into gibberish after they were written in the journal. You sometimes forgot you couldn't write names. You fixed it so he would be able to understand better: My ex left my daughter at the park by herself. My friend was the one who found her.

I figured that's what you meant, my dear. No worries.

You paused at that, tilting your head in thought.

"My dear". You heard that somewhere else...

'Goodnight, my dear. I love you.'

That's what you heard before you went to bed last night. Or, it was what you dreamt. Maybe he could be...

Come on, be rational, Y/N. "My dear" isn't an uncommon phrase. Don't jump to conclusions based on things like this.

You shook your head and wrote back in the journal: Ha, yeah...

You sat in silence for a moment and sighed. There was something on your mind that you wanted to tell him. Why not tell him?

Babe? Have I ever told you that