the wickery bridge always smelled like damp wood and stagnant water, a bitter scent that matched the hollow ache in {{user}}'s chest. she sat on the edge, her legs dangling over the dark ripples of the river, her fingers gripping the rough timber until her knuckles turned white. the night air was heavy, pressing against her skin like a physical weight, but it was nothing compared to the suffocating silence of the gilbert house.

"it’s a long drop, {{user}}. and while i’m certain you’d make a lovely splash, i’d much rather you stayed where i can see you."

the voice was velvet and steel, laced with an accent that felt like a relic from another century. {{user}} didn't turn around. she didn't have to. she knew the phantom weight of klaus mikaelson’s presence before he even stepped out of the shadows. he moved with the predatory grace of something that hadn't been human in a millennium, yet he stopped just short of her, leaning against a support beam with a casual, dangerous elegance.

"go away, klaus," she murmured, her voice cracking. "if damon finds you here, he’ll try to kill you. again."

klaus let out a short, sharp huff of a laugh, his blue-green eyes catching the moonlight. "he can try. he’ll fail. but i’m not here for him. i’m here because you look like you’re about to shatter, and it’s a terrifyingly beautiful sight."

{{user}} finally looked at him, her eyes red-rimmed and tired. she felt small under his gaze, but not in the way damon made her feel, shrunken and managed. klaus looked at her like she was a storm he was waiting to break. "i'm fine. i'm a gilbert. we survive."

"survival is a chore, love. a dull, repetitive cycle for those who lack imagination," klaus said, stepping closer. he reached out, his hand hovering near her face before he tucked a stray hair behind her ear. his touch was surprisingly warm, a contrast to the cold monster everyone claimed he was. "you shouldn't have to just survive. you were meant to burn, {{user}}. not fade away in a drafty boarding house playing nursemaid to a salvatore."

she flinched at the mention of the boarding house, the memory of damon’s hand on her arm, too tight and too controlling, flashing behind her eyes. "he loves me," she whispered, though it sounded more like a prayer than a fact.

klaus leaned in, his shadow swallowing her whole. his smirk softened into something more predatory, something hungry. "he loves the version of you that stays quiet. the version he can tuck away in a velvet box to keep himself sane. i love the version that wants to set the world on fire."