Blue ▹ The Originals [2]

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER TWELVE
SWAYING LOYALTIES

"They say life isn't fair, but I beg to differ. It's people that's not fair."

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

     Henrik hadn't slept well. He had been up practically all night, twisting and turning in his bed, unable to block out the noise of his family torturing Tristan downstairs. It wasn't the torture that was bothering him. Torture was normal in his family. What bothered him was the simple fact that Tristan was there, in his home. Henrik almost expected him to waltz through his bedroom door. It made him feel sick. He hadn't been in close proximity to Tristan for so long, and he didn't want to be there when his siblings started up the torture again. He was rolling out of bed the second he saw sunlight, and an hour later he was barging into Marcel's apartment, not even bothering to knock.

Marcel looked up from where he was fixing himself breakfast—if one could call pouring blood into a glass as breakfast—and gave Henrik an exasperated look once he realized he wasn't about to be attacked at eight in the morning. He was shirtless and Henrik came to an abrupt halt, eyebrows shooting up. He had never bothered to pay attention when Marcel was shirtless before. He blinked fast, then tore his gaze away to meet Marcel's gaze. Marcel was giving him a flat stare, and Henrik flashed him a sweet smile.

"Rebekah," he said as he walked forward, "is very lucky." Marcel rolled his eyes and scoffed, though he couldn't hold back an amused chuckle. Henrik reached his side and placed a kiss to his cheek. "Good morning," he added, walking around him and heading for the small kitchen space. It was rarely used, and when Henrik opened the refrigerator, his nose crinkled when he saw nothing but blood and a few bottles of water. He shot a look over his shoulder, only to see that Marcel already had his phone to his ear and what seemed like a menu in his hands. Henrik smiled and closed the refrigerator door, slouching in a plush chair in the living room to wait.

Once Marcel was done ordering him food, all he said was, "You could have called."

"Are you saying I'm not welcome?" Henrik asked, tilting his head back and smiling sweetly again. Marcel gave him another flat stare.

"You're always welcome," he said, sitting down on the couch across from Henrik. He leaned back and threw his arm over the back of the couch, ankle resting on his knee. "I'm just saying, I could have been...indecent." Henrik scoffed and shot a meaningful look at Marcel's bare chest. Marcel was up a moment later, disappearing into his room. He came out fully dressed.

"Speaking of indecent," Henrik started, wanting to distract himself from what was happening at the compound. "Are any of your men cute or—"

"No," Marcel said immediately, shooting him a disapproving look. "None of them are good enough for you." Henrik's nose crinkled, but since Marcel didn't say something like that for no reason, Henrik decided to fall silent. He hadn't really wanted a hookup anyway, just a distraction. For some reason, his mind went to Francis, and his fingers itched for his phone. Instead he spoke.

"Do you mind if I stay here for a while?" he murmured. Marcel studied his face, suddenly looking concerned. Henrik offered him a shrug. "They have Tristan tied to a chair and I..." He trailed off. He didn't know what he felt. He shouldn't have felt anything. He didn't know why he felt sick all night, why he couldn't stomach something he had witnessed so many times before. "I don't want to be there," he said at last, glancing up to see Marcel staring at him.

"Can I ask you something?" Marcel asked after a moment. They both already knew that Henrik could stay as long as he needed or wanted to. Henrik nodded. Marcel hesitated, and it was that hesitation that made Henrik prepare himself for the question Marcel was about to ask. "Do you still care about him?" Henrik opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He averted his gaze to the glass coffee table, thinking long and hard over the question.