Blue ▹ The Originals [2]

CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
INSECURITIES

"All my love is free."

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

     "How are you so calm?" was the first thing Henrik was greeted with when his hearing came back. As always, it was the first sense that came to him. His eyes remained closed, the ability to feel touch not yet there. He didn't know where he was, didn't know how his body was laying. It was just hearing, and he heard plenty in those first twenty seconds as he came to. He heard Louis's panicked voice, heard his labored breathing. Heard him pacing restlessly across the room. He also heard another person breathing very close to him, so evenly that he knew it was controlled rather than normal. That could only be Francis. Henrik could only assume they were back at their apartment, and that was proven to be correct when his ability to feel came back and he felt the familiar comfort of their bed, a pillow beneath his head. "Henry—I mean, Henrik, he's—he—"

"I am," Francis said slowly, through gritted teeth, "the farthest thing from calm." Despite his controlled breathing, Henrik could hear how true that was, and now he could feel it. Francis was clutching at his hand so hard it nearly hurt. With each death Henrik had to suffer through, Francis seemed to get worse at handling it. The first time, so many years ago, he'd been primarily calm, from what Henrik had noticed. He had focused on helping Freya sort through all Henrik's notes. The second time had been the complete opposite, probably because it was just so random. A car crash, so normal compared to the rest of their lives, had been the cause, and Henrik had woken to Francis hovering, his eyes rimmed red. Francis had admitted, much later when Henrik himself was alright, that he had briefly forgotten Henrik could come back from the dead.

Now, Francis was clutching hard to his hand. Henrik didn't know how long he'd been sitting there, waiting, but he could imagine it had been a long time. Francis wasn't likely to stop hovering anytime soon, especially since he had left Henrik at the mercy of the explosion to begin with. It had been at Henrik's request, of course, but Henrik knew Francis was probably punishing himself for it.

"I still don't get it," Louis said suddenly, bringing Henrik out of his thoughts. He wished so badly he could move. He could feel both Louis and Francis's worry and tension, suffocating the room. He wanted to reassure them, but had no way to. He couldn't even move his eyelids.

"I already explained everything to you," Francis responded, irritation clear in his voice, in the frustrated sigh he let out. Henrik wanted to squeeze his hand, wanted to remind him that this was a lot to take in and that it wasn't Louis's fault, but he couldn't. Henrik could only listen in frustration. Louis mumbled something Henrik couldn't hear, and Francis responded in kind. "You literally just used his real name."

"Witches change their names all the time," Louis pointed out. He wasn't wrong. Witches tended to hide their true identities—and thus, their witch bloodlines—all the time, out of fear that someone would seek them out for their family power. The Bennett line, for example, was the perfect example of a witch bloodline being used and used and used until they didn't have anymore to give. "That's much easier for me to believe than—than a thousand-year-old immortal witch who can come back from the dead."

"Do you really think I would've chosen to save you if I thought Henrik wouldn't come back from this?" Francis snapped, voice so sharp that, for a moment, everything was completely silent. Henrik wanted to tell Francis to stop, wanted to once again say that this wasn't Louis's fault. But it didn't seem to be necessary. Francis took in a deep, calming breath. When he spoke again, his voice was softer, and there was a bit of dry humor in it. "Maybe you're having such a hard time believing this because you badmouthed his family right in front of him and now you feel guilty." Louis let out a choked sound, sputtering out his next words quickly.