Chapter Text
On the anniversary of her parent’s death, Hope Mikaelson walks into a flower shop, in search of something to help her pay her respects.
The shop is overcrowded with plants, all of them varying in size, color, and price, but Hope does not linger to make her decision. Quite selfishly, her attention darts to the front of the store, where a beautiful brunette girl stands in patchy overalls.
Hope slows her step to a stroll, so as to not seem too eager, but excitement courses through her veins regardless.
“Hi, Hope.” Josie greets, her lips forming around the lone syllable of Hope’s name in a respectful, polite tone. Hope tries to ignore the large part of herself that yearns so desperately to hear it on repeat. “Something for your parents?”
Her lips are glossy today, wet in an enticing way that distracts Hope for a split second.
“Yes, please.” Hope manages. Her voice comes out much more strangled than she’d like.
“On it.” Josie salutes her, the action only made more endearing by the cute pair of overalls she has on. The brunette circles the counter to get out from behind it, already on a mission to find the right item for Hope.
Hope trails after her.
A quick glance confirms that she’s bare beneath the material and Hope’s treacherous eyes soak up the glimpse of naked skin. Hope’s own skin heats as rapidly as one could strike a match, a pang of longing throbbing throughout her body. She itches to set her hands on Josie, to catch the sweet taste of pillowy lips on her tongue. She wants to be—
Gentle.
Gentle, Hope has to remind herself, so as to not crush another delicate, beautiful thing beneath her fingers.
Josie stops in front of a bright red assortment of flowers. Roses. Hayley’s favorite.
“I picked these yesterday, so they should keep for a while.” She drags a single finger over one of the petals carefully, as if it were still a living thing. “Are they alright?”
“They’re perfect, thank you.”
Hope’s tongue begs her to say something else, something more, but she is too afraid to go past small talk.
Josie smiles, pleased by the praise. Hope’s chest brightens at the pretty sight of her. She can’t help but take the chance to compliment her whenever she can, Hope knows Josie takes great pride in her work. It’s one of the many things she admires about her, one of the many things she- no. Hope swallows, her mouth suddenly and unmistakably dry.
She doesn't even deserve to think of the word.
Love.
What a silly thing for Hope’s mind to conjure up, when her bones still ache with the memory that consumes her, a nightmare that lives in the day.
Wet dirt beneath slick paws, the subtle crunch of leaves molded into the thud of rapid footsteps, a slice of wind falling like a whip across fur, trees that tower above the land, a stretch of bare flesh caught in her jaw.
Hope snaps out of her thoughts abruptly, only now realizing that Josie has begun to ramble.
“The flowers really are the most beautiful at this time of year. So many of them are blooming, I have trouble keeping myself from them.” Josie nibbles her bottom lip, quite adorably, wetting it only slightly. “Of course, I don’t go out into the forest at night. I don’t believe in the Beast of the Manor or anything, like the rest of the town, but it’s good to stay safe.”
It’s clear Josie purposefully left out one key word in her sentence: the Beast of Mikaelson Manor.
Hope’s stomach clenches despite Josie’s careful wording. Dread clings to her insides like smoke and she belatedly realizes that she is terrified for some unknown reason, every inch of her mind stripped raw by fear.
A stretch of bare flesh caught in her jaw, a stretch of bare flesh caught in her jaw, a stretch of bare flesh caught in her—
“The forest?” Hope croaks, her throat bobbing tellingly. “N-no, you can’t. It’s dangerous.”
Josie tilts her head and arches a single, curious eyebrow. “Don’t tell me you believe the stories.”
“I don’t.”
“You do.”
“I don’t.” Hope insists, noticing far too late that she has stepped into Josie’s personal space. It takes her a second to force herself back, but the damage is already done. The scent of cinnamon is now firmly lodged in her nose, making it that much harder to speak. “I… I only worry for your safety.”
She’s said too much.
Josie is looking at her now, really looking at her, and the deep brown of her gaze is haunting on Hope’s skin.
“Can I pay for these?” Hope points to the roses she had nearly forgotten, desperate to disappear.
“Sure.” Josie collects them into a bundle for her easily.
The transition probably passes quickly, but Hope feels as if it steals years from her life. Her hands never fail to stop shaking as she counts out her money, and she knows Josie must notice the way they tremble, but neither girls speak of it.
She leaves without a goodbye.