𝓛𝓸𝓿𝓮𝓻'𝓼 𝓞𝓶𝓮𝓷 {𝓣𝓥𝓓}

♡ 𝓡𝓞𝓤𝓖𝓗 𝓢𝓣𝓐𝓡𝓣 ♡

✧༺♥༻✧

✧༺♥༻✧

♥ 𝓟𝓡𝓞𝓛𝓞𝓖𝓤𝓔 ♥

✧༺♥༻✧

   Ilan leans against the kitchen island and stares out the window, spatula in hand as he cooks breakfast. The sound of sizzling bacon fades as he zones out. His eyes stare at the woods in the distance, focused on a tree. The grass gently sways back and forth with the wind.

    Hazel eyes follow the grooves and ridges in the tree bark, the sun highlights the various browns and reds hidden from most eyes. Ilan notices the slightest bit of movement by a tree that's further into the woods. He tilts his head. He realizes he can't see past the third tree. As if there's a shadowy, black wall blocking outsiders from seeing into the woods.

Ilan pushes himself off the island and steps closer to the window. The dark wall mimics his movement, stopping just before where the sun hits the first tree. He starts to take another step closer, his waist almost touching the counter in front of him. He slowly puts the spatula down, eyes glued to the shadows.

   He jumps away, the spatula falls from his hand and onto the floor. He holds his arm to his chest, his wrist burns. He curses to himself.

With his attention now ripped away from the shadows, his nose is invaded with the smell of burnt bacon. He rushes to turn the stove off, almost tripping over the forgotten spatula.

"No, no, no!", he exclaims to the air. With slumped shoulders, he lets arms flop lifelessy to his sides. He stares at the charred bacon in disappointment, debating on whether he should force himself to eat it anyway. Ilan shakes his head and scoffs, he grabs the pan handle and walks to the garbage can next to the island. He tilts the pan, flinging away inedible bacon.

   Feet slap against the floor as he walks to the sink, dropping the pan into it. Remembering the heat he felt on his skin, he looks at his wrist. An angry red line sticks out from his tanned skin. Ilan turns on the cold water, sighing in relief as he puts his wrist under the running water.

   He looks up, his attention going back to the window above the sink. His brows furrow, the infinite trees and plants now exposed to him, the shadows gone, like it was never there in the first place.

"What the hell?" , he mutters.

   A buzz fills his ears. He looks behind him, his phone lay on the island, the irritating buzz drawing him to it. Ilan turns off the water, drying his hands off on his shirt and grabbing his phone. He scrunches his nose when he sees the caller id.

'C.FORBES'

   Laying his phone back down, he contemplates answering.

   Fortunately or unfortunately, he takes too long to decide and misses the call.

Caroline Forbes, one of Mystic Falls' popular girls. She's sweet but intense, something that Ilan isn't used to. When he moved into town two yeas ago, she was the first to approach Ilan, the blonde immediately gluing herself to his side. Her bubbly attitude overwhelmed Ilan, but he eventually warmed up to her.

He still finds himself having to take a breath before meeting with her.

   The introverted teen doesn't talk much, which works out since Caroline talks enough for the both of them.

Funnily enough, people seem to mistake his silence for weakness. Some students tried to push him around but were quickly shot down, much to everyone surprise. News quickly spread, Mystic Falls' quiet kid has claws.

   Maybe that's why they work so well together. She makes him more adventurous and he helps ground her when she finds herself putting her foot in her mouth. Caroline can sometimes be a bit innocent with what she says.

Ilan looks at the time on his phone.

'8:45 AM'

   The glowing number make Ilans eyes widen.

"Goddammit!" he says raising his voice. He rushes away. He runs up the stairs, his bare feet slip on the bare wood. He catches himself and continues on. Rushing into his room he grabs the strap of his bag and runs back down the stairs. He skids to a stop near the front door.

He shoves his still bare feet into his shoes.

   He feels his skin crawl at the feel of the rough fabric touching him, but he has no time to look for socks.

   Ilan snatches keys from a nearby bowl and slams the door open. He quickly pats himself down and gets ready to run to his car.

   Clicking his tongue, he runs into the kitchen remembering he discarded his lonely phone on the cold, hard marble countertop. He stares at his now cold breakfast before haphazardly throwing the plate in the fridge and finally making his way out the door.

   Ilan rocks on the tips of his toes, locking the front door. Storming into his car, he gently tosses his bag and phone into the front seat. He plops himself into the plush, leather seat and huffs.

   Putting the key into the ignition he smiles, feeling the car purr. He carefully backs out the driveway and onto the street, driving to school with the hopes of making it in time to avoid ruining his perfect attendance that he prides himself on.

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The beginning will be a bit slow, but things will ramp up eventually.

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