Chapter Text
"We never got it right
Playing and replaying old conversations
Overthinking every word and I hate it
'Cause it's not me ('cause it's not me)
And what's the point in hiding?
Everybody knows we got unfinished business
And I'll regret it if I didn't say
This isn't what it could be (isn't what it could be)"
-- Back to You
"Surprise."
The single word sliced through the stillness of the evening air, commanding Penelope's attention as she pushed open her dorm room door. The wooden frame creaked beneath her fingertips, the familiar sound somehow amplifying the weight of disappointment that had been crushing her chest all day. A day that had stretched endlessly, each hour marked by the harsh tick of the clock and the growing hollow sensation behind her ribs.
Penelope's shoulders ached with tension as she hovered in the doorway. The scent of disappointment clung to her skin like perfume—bitter and impossible to ignore. Her parents, Victor and Raquel Park, had promised with such conviction that this birthday—her sixteenth—would be different. Their voices had rung with such certainty through the phone line last week that for once, Penelope had allowed herself to believe them.
"This time will be different, sweetheart," her mother had crooned, the words honey-sweet through the receiver. "Nine o'clock sharp. We'll be there."
The notorious Victor and Raquel Park—renowned throughout magical circles for their brilliance, their ambition, their absence. They were supposed to arrive at Salvatore School promptly at nine o'clock to whisk away their only daughter for a day of celebration. Lunch at Maison Laurent, that French bistro where the chef enchanted each dish to taste like your fondest memory. Perhaps a shopping excursion through the hidden magical boutiques of the nearest city, or a visit to the witch-run spa where the massage therapists could literally draw tension out of your body in glowing wisps of colored light.
And like a fool, Penelope had believed them. The corners of her mouth twisted downward at the thought. She'd been so certain that they would come that she'd brushed off Josie's suggestions for alternative plans with her trademark dismissive wave.
"They'll be here," she had insisted, chin tilted upward in defiance of Josie's skeptical gaze, even as something fragile and hopeful fluttered in her chest.
Nine o'clock had come and gone, the minute hand sweeping past with cruel efficiency.
Ten o'clock arrived with the same result, though Penelope had maintained her position in the school's front sitting room, spine rigid against the antique chair, eyes fixed on the ornate double doors.
By eleven, her jaw ached from clenching her teeth, and the fragile thing in her chest had begun to wither.
It wasn't until one in the afternoon that her parents had even bothered to contact the school. Not her—never her directly. That would require acknowledging the damage they'd inflicted. No, they'd called the administration office with a vague message about "unforeseen work obligations" that made it impossible for them to come. As if their daughter were just another appointment that could be rescheduled, reshuffled, forgotten.
All Penelope received was a secondhand "happy birthday" from Ms. Featherwood, the school secretary, her eyes swimming with that particular brand of pity reserved for children with absent parents. "They said they'll be in touch soon, dear." The words landed like stones in Penelope's stomach. That's all she was worth to the people who were supposed to love her unconditionally—an afterthought, a message relayed through a virtual stranger.
After that conversation, Penelope couldn't bear to return to the dorms. The thought of curious eyes and well-meaning questions made her skin crawl. So she had turned off her phone—silencing the notifications that never came—and disappeared into the woods surrounding the school.
The dense forest had welcomed her like an old friend, branches reaching overhead to shield her from the world. Fallen leaves crunched beneath her boots as she wandered aimlessly, the soundtrack to sixteen years of empty promises playing on an endless loop in her mind.
We'll be at your recital next time. We'll make Christmas special this year. Of course we remember it's your birthday.
She had walked until the sun dipped below the treeline, casting long shadows across the forest floor. She would have kept going forever—losing herself completely in the labyrinth of trees and tangled underbrush—if not for the temperature dropping so dramatically that her breath clouded before her in ghostly puffs. The biting cold had seeped through her light jacket, a visceral reminder that she couldn't outrun reality forever.
It was late enough now that Penelope was certain she could slip back to her room unnoticed. The hallways would be quiet, most students either studying or already asleep. She could curl up under her mountain of blankets and let sleep claim her, dragging this miserable excuse for a birthday into the merciful realm of yesterday.
"Pen?"
Josie's voice, soft and hesitant, pulled Penelope from her thoughts. The fog of misery lifted, and reality snapped into crystal-clear focus. The scene before her wasn't a hallucination born of desperate loneliness. It was real.
The room she had left this morning had been transformed. Hundreds of fairy lights hung suspended in the air, their golden glow reminiscent of fireflies on a summer night. They cast dancing shadows across the walls, illuminating the dozens of roses arranged throughout the space—blood red, sunset orange, butter yellow, snow white—their petals open and perfect. The air was thick with their heady fragrance, sweet and intoxicating.
And there in the center of it all, perched on a picnic blanket surrounded by an array of Penelope's favorite treats, sat Josie Saltzman. The one person in the entire world who made Penelope feel as though she might be worth loving after all.
"You did this?" Penelope whispered, her voice catching on the jagged edges of emotion rising in her throat. Her mind struggled to process that someone would go to such lengths for her—would create something so beautiful just to make her happy.
"Of course." Josie's smile was radiant, lighting up her face from within. She rose to her feet with fluid grace, never once breaking eye contact with Penelope. "It's your birthday."
Josie closed the distance between them, her movements deliberate and sure. Her chestnut hair fell in soft waves around her face, catching the golden light from above. "Well, not all of it. MG and Hope helped with the lights and the flowers. But the rest was all me..." Her confidence wavered for a moment, vulnerability flickering across her features. "Do you like it?"
Penelope couldn't respond. The words stuck in her throat, trapped behind the swell of emotions that threatened to overflow. Her chest constricted painfully as countless thoughts tumbled through her mind like stones in a river—each one too overwhelming to grasp.
Instead of speaking, she stepped fully into the room, allowing the door to click shut behind her. Her eyes roamed hungrily over every detail—the precise arrangement of the lights to mimic constellations, the careful selection of treats (including those caramel-filled dark chocolates that were nearly impossible to find), the soft music playing from hidden speakers. She committed each element to memory, filing it away to revisit during darker times.
Penelope knew, with bone-deep certainty, that this moment would become one of her most cherished memories. A lighthouse in the storm, something to cling to when the world turned harsh and love seemed like a foreign concept invented for other people.
"I know you said you didn't want to do anything for your birthday," Josie began, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her yellow cardigan, "but I couldn't let it pass by without—"
Penelope didn't allow her to finish. She surged forward, one hand cupping Josie's cheek while the other wrapped around her waist, pulling her close. Their lips met in a kiss that contained every emotion Penelope couldn't voice—gratitude, wonder, disbelief, and something deeper that scared her with its intensity.
For a heartbeat, Josie stiffened in surprise. Then she melted against Penelope, taking control of the kiss with natural confidence. Her fingers threaded through Penelope's wavy dark locks, tugging gently to angle her head just so, deepening their connection. The taste of cherry lip gloss mingled with something uniquely Josie—something Penelope couldn't get enough of.
They stumbled backward toward the picnic blanket, hands working frantically at buttons and ties, breath coming in sharp gasps. Josie guided them down with surprising grace, somehow managing to lower them both to the ground without breaking their kiss. The blanket was soft beneath Penelope's back, cushioning her against the hard floor.
Penelope surrendered completely to the girl who had shown her what it meant to be loved. For once, she didn't need to be in control—didn't need the protective armor of snarky comments and feigned indifference. With Josie, she could just be.
Despite her reputation for cutting innuendos and suggestive smirks that made teachers blush, Penelope had never ventured beyond heated make-out sessions. It wasn't for lack of opportunity—she'd had plenty of offers, plenty of moments where things could have progressed further. But something had always held her back, a vulnerability she couldn't bear to expose. That most intimate piece of herself remained hidden away, protected behind walls of carefully crafted nonchalance and razor-sharp wit.
Until now. Until Josie.
"Pen?" Josie pulled back slightly, her weight balanced on her forearms as she gazed down at Penelope. Concern flickered in her dark eyes as they searched Penelope's face. The fairy lights reflected in Josie's irises like tiny stars. "Are you okay? We can stop if you want to. I know—"
"No," Penelope interrupted, her voice urgent and raw with need. Her entire body hummed with anticipation, skin flushed and hypersensitive to every point of contact between them. The thought of stopping now was physically painful. "I want this..." she breathed, then swallowed hard before adding, "I... I love you."
The words hung in the air between them, honest and terrifying in their simplicity.
A smile bloomed across Josie's face, slow and radiant as the sunrise. "I love you too, Penelope Park."
Those words—the ones Penelope had never truly believed she would hear from anyone—unleashed something within her. Her heart cracked open, flooding her body with an unfamiliar sensation that reached every cell, every molecule. This was love. Not the cautious, conditional affection she'd been raised on, but something vast and unconditional. Something that accepted all of her—sharp edges, defense mechanisms, and hidden softness alike.
In that moment, lying beneath the warm glow of fairy lights with Josie looking at her as though she were precious, Penelope made a silent vow: she would never go without this feeling again.
"Park! Wake up. We've gotta go in five. Caroline's waiting for us."
An unintelligible groan escaped Penelope's lips as consciousness tugged at her. The memory-dream dissolved like morning mist, retreating to the shadowed corners of her mind where she kept her most treasured recollections. She burrowed deeper into her pillow, pulling the blanket over her head in a futile attempt to chase the remnants of sleep.
God, how she loved that dream.
"Get up, Park," Hope's voice sliced through her cocoon of warmth, accompanied by a series of sharp, staccato knocks against her bedroom door that seemed deliberately calculated to be as annoying as possible.
"Fuck off," Penelope growled, the words muffled by layers of blanket. With a resigned sigh, she sat up, running her fingers through her short, messy hair. Static electricity made the dark strands stand on end, a physical manifestation of her internal disarray. "It isn't even eight yet."
The door swung open to reveal Hope Mikaelson, already dressed and alert despite the early hour. Her auburn hair was pulled back into a messy ponytail, and she wore her now-trademark outfit—artfully ripped jeans paired with a worn black leather motorcycle jacket that had seen better days. A playful smirk played at the corners of her mouth as she leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed over her chest.
"It's 8:30," Hope corrected, her head tilting slightly as she took in Penelope's disheveled state.
"Bullshit," Penelope countered, squinting skeptically at the Tribrid.
"Check your phone if you don't believe me." Hope pushed away from the doorframe and crossed the small room, settling onto the edge of Penelope's bed with practiced familiarity. The mattress dipped beneath her weight. "I let you sleep an extra thirty."
"Thanks," Penelope mumbled, the word barely audible.
"You're welcome," Hope replied, the hint of amusement in her voice unmistakable.
Penelope rubbed her eyes, forcing herself to focus. "I thought we weren't meeting Caroline until this afternoon?"
"We were," Hope confirmed, her fingers unconsciously finding the ornate silver thumb ring she always wore. She began to twist it back and forth, the metal catching the morning light filtering through the dusty window.
Six years of living in each other's pockets had taught Penelope to read Hope's non-verbal cues like a familiar spell book. The ring-twisting was a dead giveaway—Hope was anxious about something. Penelope had cataloged dozens of such tells, filing them away alongside everything else she knew about the auburn-haired girl who had become more like a sister than a friend. An exasperating, overprotective, occasionally infuriating sister whom Penelope had grown to love with fierce loyalty.
How could she not, after everything they'd been through together?
Hope Mikaelson was the one constant in Penelope's chaotic existence. The one person she could count on regardless of circumstances—apocalyptic or mundane. Their bond was forged in blood and magic, in shared trauma and rare moments of joy. They were each other's ride or die, had been since that rain-soaked day when Hope had appeared on Penelope's doorstep in Belgium, eyes wild with determination as she swore they would find a way to stop the Merge... even if they had to sacrifice everything else to do it.
"But..." Penelope prompted, a knot of apprehension forming in her stomach.
Hope's fingers stilled on her ring. "But Caroline called an hour ago and said she needed to see us right away." Her voice carried the weight of unspoken concerns, shoulders tensing almost imperceptibly.
"An hour ago?" Penelope's brow furrowed. "And you didn't wake me?"
"You needed to sleep." Hope's eyes softened, taking in the dark circles beneath Penelope's eyes that no amount of concealer could fully hide.
"I'm okay," Penelope insisted, sitting a little straighter.
"Pen—" Hope began, her tone shifting toward the lecture that Penelope knew by heart.
"Seriously," Penelope cut her off firmly. This wasn't a conversation she was willing to have. Not again, and certainly not today. She squared her shoulders. "I'm okay."
Hope held her gaze for a moment longer before relenting with a sigh. "Fine."
Grateful for the reprieve, Penelope quickly changed the subject. "Did she say anything else? Anything about the talisman?"
"No." Hope shook her head, sending her ponytail swinging. "But I got the sense that it's why she needs to see us. I mean, what else could it be about?"
"Fuck," Penelope whispered, the word escaping on an exhale as her teeth sank into her bottom lip hard enough to nearly draw blood.
"Hey." Hope's voice softened. "It could be good news. Maybe she found it."
"Or maybe..." Penelope couldn't complete the thought, the alternative too devastating to voice.
"Don't," Hope commanded, her tone razor-sharp with sudden sternness. "You promised me you wouldn't do this."
"I know. I just..." Penelope's words trailed into silence as her fingers unconsciously drifted toward her neck, tracing along the raised white scar that stretched across her throat like a macabre necklace. The tissue was smooth beneath her fingertips, a permanent reminder of how close she'd come to death. There was only one way someone acquired a scar like that and lived to tell about it.
Hope noticed the gesture immediately. She reached out, covering Penelope's hand with her own and gently pulling it away from the scar. "Pen," she said, her voice gentle but firm, "it's going to be different this time."
"You don't know that," Penelope countered, unable to meet Hope's gaze.
"Neither do you," Hope replied, a small smile warming her features. She gave Penelope's hand a reassuring squeeze. "But there's only one way to find out."
Hope stood, the bed creaking beneath the shift in weight. She moved to the chair where Penelope had tossed her clothes the night before, plucking a black t-shirt from the pile and tossing it toward the bed. It landed in Penelope's lap with a soft thump. "Now, get dressed."
"Bossy, much?" Penelope arched an eyebrow, the hint of a smile tugging at her lips despite herself.
"You know you like it," Hope countered without missing a beat, already heading for the door. She paused in the doorway, glancing back over her shoulder. "Oh, and Park?"
"Yeah?"
"Happy birthday."
The door clicked shut behind her, leaving Penelope alone with the weight of those two simple words. She flopped back onto the bed, eyes fixed on the cracked ceiling above her. A deep sigh escaped her lips as she tried to ward off the thoughts of what news might be coming.
Penelope wanted desperately to believe that Hope was right—that Caroline had finally tracked down the last piece of the puzzle, and they could attempt the spell that had consumed their lives for the past six years. But experience had taught her that hope was a dangerous thing. Their journey had been littered with dead ends, failed attempts, and the inevitable heartache that followed each one.
And they had run out of options. This spell was it—their last chance. If successful, the magical Hail Mary would give Penelope one chance, and one chance only, to right the wrongs of the past. To maybe—just maybe—stop the person she loved from becoming...
"No," Penelope whispered fiercely, cutting off her own thoughts. She wouldn't let herself go there. Not again. That path led only to paralyzing fear and doubt, neither of which she could afford right now.
Instead, she rolled onto her side and reached beneath her pillow. Her fingers brushed against something soft and worn, and a small smile curved her lips as she pulled out a tattered yellow cardigan. The once-vibrant fabric had faded to the color of dying sunlight, threadbare in places where her fingers had worried the material over countless sleepless nights. The Salvatore School crest had long since fallen off, leaving only ghostly stitching to mark where it had once been proudly displayed.
But Penelope loved it nonetheless. It was all she had left—this yellow cardigan and the bittersweet memories that clung to it like phantom perfume. She pressed the fabric to her face, inhaling deeply. After all this time, she could still detect the faintest trace of Josie's scent—vanilla and orange blossoms, a combination that still had the power to make her heart ache.
Curling around the cardigan like it was a lifeline, Penelope squeezed her eyes shut. She clung to the faint hope that whatever news Caroline had for them would bring her one step closer to saving Josie Saltzman—and perhaps, in doing so, saving herself as well.