Bloom || HOPE MIKAELSON x RYAN CLARKE

7] FLARES IN THE SKY

Ryan sat on the bare bed in the corner, biting back an angry snarl. He didn't cry.
Her eyes met his for a brief second before she looked frantically at her aunt and back around the room, searching for something that wasn't there.
Something that would never be there again.

''What happened? Where is she?''

''Breathe. You're safe now.'' Freya coaxed.

''Where my mom?''

The lights flickered at Hope's outburst and Ryan closed his eyes firmly, his iron grip wrapping around the headboard until he felt splinters digging into his skin.

He knew what was coming.

He'd never had a mother. He couldn't imagine, but he knew. He saw it vividly.

He didn't hear the rest -or perhaps he simply didn't want to.

The only thing that he was sure he would always remember, the only thing no amount of fatherly disapproval would ever take away, was her  face as she let the tears flow and cried herself dry in her aunt's arms.

⚘

It was a bright and sunny morning in the age of Aquarius.

The birds practically chirped with happiness as he stepped foot inside the school, the echoing chatter of the students suffocating him in waves.

Finals were over. The posters on the walls hinted toward some sort of obnoxious dance, and the Salvatore School's students were all blissfully unaware that tragedy had struck their community again.

Ryan walked ahead sternly, ripping into the joyous atmosphere with a scowl, clutching the paper cups in his hands.

It had been an equally long night on his part, but no matter the amount of exhaustion he felt, he would never let it win.
This wasn't his loss to mourn.

Hope needed him.

Walking into the hallway, he brushed off a few curious stares and headed toward the majestic staircase. Before he could hop onto the first step, he was stopped by a fluttering checkered skirt and large forehead.

''Is it true?'' the student, who couldn't be older than Hope herself carried on a whisper, her wide blue eyes scanning the room for any unwelcome listeners.

''Is what true?'' he frowned, his hold on the cups tightening even further.

''They say they killed her mother,'' the girl continued, a frown creasing her thick brows as well, ''Is Hope's mom really dead?''

''Look, I don't know who-''
''Lizzie,'' she introduced herself, hands clasped behind her back.

''Are you a friend of Hope's?''

''No. Hope doesn't have any friends,'' she scoffed before turning significantly softer, ''I just- is she okay?''

Her words rattled him, angered him even, but he could see it in her eyes.
The impish glimmer of troubled concern.
The need to know, even if just to appease her curiosity.
And the underlying genuine sadness.

Those eyes looked oddly familiar to him too, if a little young and naive.

''She's... holding up,'' he finally conceded, ''Do you want me to tell her-''
''No!'' she stepped back, looking away for a second, ''Just- just forget we ever had this conversation. Seriously, if you mention it, I will kill you.''

She walked past him, bumping his shoulder with hers in a childish attempt to assert dominance. He stared after her until she disappeared around the corner.
She was nothing but a child. Hope was nothing but a child.