the dust from the collapsed support beam still hung heavy in the air of the ruined gilbert lake house, tasting of cedar and ancient spells. {{user}} leaned heavily against the remains of a charred doorframe, her fingers pressed hard against a jagged tear in her side. she was used to fixing things. delicate pottery, frayed tapestries, the fractured egos of her younger sister’s suitors but she couldn't quite mend the way her own breath hitched in her chest.

the silence was broken by the heavy, rhythmic thud of boots against floorboards. she didn't need to look up to know the silhouette in the doorway. the air always seemed to thicken when he entered a room, charged with a magnetic, predatory energy that usually made her skin prickle.

"you were supposed to stay with the salvatores," klaus said, his voice a low, melodic rumble that carried the sharp edge of a british accent.

he moved toward her with a grace that defied his muscular frame, his striking blue-green eyes scanning the wreckage before locking onto the crimson staining her hands. the smug, dangerous smirk he usually wore vanished, replaced by a terrifyingly blank expression.

"i don't take orders from men who spend their time brooding in mansions," she managed to whisper, though her legs felt like they were turning to wax.

before she could stumble, he was there. his hands, usually so prone to violence, were impossibly steady as he caught her by the waist. he eased her down onto a crate, his dark blond curls falling forward as he knelt between her knees. {{user}} looked down at him, noting the way his defined jawline tightened. for a man who claimed to have no heart, he was looking at her as if she were the only thing in the world worth saving.

"let me see," he commanded, though it sounded more like a plea.

he pulled her hand away from the wound. the contrast was stark: her soft skin against his calloused, sun-kissed fingers. his thumb brushed against the curve of her hip, a touch that lingered a second too long to be purely clinical. in the quiet language they shared, this was his confession. he didn't need to say he was worried; the way he wouldn't meet her eyes told her everything.

klaus bit into his wrist, the sound of tearing skin loud in the quiet room. he held the wound to her lips. "drink, {{user}}."

as the blood worked its way through her system, the fire in her side dimmed to a dull ache. he didn't pull away once she was healed. instead, he reached up, cupping her face with a gentleness that would have horrified his siblings. his thumb traced the line of her cheekbone, his gaze heavy with a millennium’s worth of yearning.

"the town is safe. the veil is back up," she said, trying to reclaim the distance between them. "go. your city is calling you. your throne is waiting."

klaus let out a soft, huffed laugh, his fingers tangling in the hair at the nape of her neck. "the throne is just a chair, {{user}}. it’s the company that matters. i’ve spent a thousand years being the king of nothing. i’m going to build something real."

"i hope you find what you’re looking for," she replied, her voice trembling.

he leaned in, his forehead resting against hers. "i've already found it. i'm just waiting for her to realize she belongs there too. whenever you’re ready, {{user}}... the quarter is yours."