LONELY SUN | TVD

THREE

THREE : cigarettes and grills

Smoking used to be Thomas' thing with Finn. Before their relationship was irreversibly destroyed, the duo would smoke together. It was an olive branch, and the only aspect of their relationship that stayed unchanged for a hundred years.

Thomas doesn't like his eldest brother. Hasn't actually liked him, or enjoyed his presence, or been grateful for his life, for well over a thousand years. But that doesn't mean Thomas hates him, or wants him in dead. If anything, he misses him. He misses his brother, all his brothers, more than anything. Yearns for the relationships they had as children, when things were simpler in a way they never would be again. It's harder to have anything, to cultivate any kind of relationship, when immortal. Grudges fade. Anger fades. Love fades. It comes back, and leaves again. Nothing is resolved and nothing is permanent and nothing ever fully goes away.

Thomas stares at the burning bud of his last cigarette. Just being given it by his siblings was an extraordinary feat. He wonders how pathetic he must've looked for them to do it.

He's weak, hasn't drank blood since Kol gave his. He'll be feeling hunger pangs soon, and will start shaking from withdrawal, along with other symptoms. Thomas huffs, taking a look around. There's plenty of humans he could feed from, but blood doesn't sound appetizing. Drowning in a lake would be more fun.

As his eyes go from person to person, eventually meeting a man's. Tall, blonde, pretty. Thomas can work with that. "Excuse me," He says, trying to put on a friendly smile. "Could you point me to a pharmacy, drugstore, anything like that? I'm new in town."

The man smiles, prompting for Thomas to return the gesture. "Sure. I'm headed to one now, if you'd like to come with me."

God, Thomas wants to eat him. "Of course, thank you." Fuck, this guy's tall. Thomas could use a distraction.

"I'm Alaric Saltzman." The man introduces, snapping Thomas out of his thoughts. "But everyone just calls me Ric."

"I'm Thomas Mikaelson," He says, shaking Alaric's hand. He forces himself to ignore the sound of Alaric's blood pulsing under his skin. "My friends call me Tommy."

Alaric huffs out a laugh. "We're friends already?"

"We could be, Ric," Thomas grins. "You could show me, the helpless new guy, how things work around here."

The implication isn't lost on Alaric. "Perhaps I could," He says, the corners of his lips quirking up. "Say, what made you move to Mystic Falls?"

"My mother is— a lot," Thomas says. "Wants a family reunion after what, a hundred years?"

Alaric raises an eyebrow. "That long? What drove her to come back?"

"Fuck if I know," Thomas shrugs. "Haven't seen her in— forever. She's basically a stranger."

"Shit," Alaric whistles. "I'm sorry, sounds hard."

"Yeah." Thomas says. "Can't imagine living with her."

"Why'd you all follow her here?" Alaric asks. "You're all adults, right? You could leave."

"I could," Thomas whispers. "But I'm the youngest. They don't— they don't like letting go."

"Ah," Alaric nods to himself. "I get it. My brother and I were the same." He stops walking abruptly, causing Thomas to bump into his back. "We're here." Alaric motions to the drugstore, oh-so-cleverly labeled Alvin's Meds & Stuff. Christ. "He wanted to name it Alvin's Drugs and Stuff, but the neighborhood association wouldn't let him," Alaric snorts. Thomas has no idea what those words mean. "Several cease and desists were sent." He opens the door for Thomas to step through. He murmurs a thanks as a bell rings above them.