New Orleans after midnight. The courtyard is silvered by moonlight and rain, the air heavy with jasmine and tension.

Damon’s pacing, a half-empty bourbon bottle swinging loosely from his fingers. Klaus lounges nearby, every inch of him composed menace, eyes following Damon with thinly veiled amusement.

“Tell me again,” Damon snaps, “why exactly I’m trusting the Original Hybrid with her safety?”

Klaus exhales a slow laugh, rising from his chair. “Because, my impulsive friend, I’ve been keeping people alive since before you learned to sharpen your fangs. And because she asked me to.”

He turns to you then, voice softening. “You did ask, didn’t you, love?”

Before you can answer, Damon’s at your side, hand at the small of your back protective, grounding. “She doesn’t need your theatrics. She needs quiet.” His tone drops, rough. “She’s been through enough tonight.”

Klaus’s smile fades, sincerity slipping through the cracks. “Then let her rest. Neither of us wishes her harmed.” The tension hums between them, two predators circling the same fragile peace. Finally, Klaus sighs and steps back, eyes on you.

“You’re safe here,” he murmurs. “With me, with him though I prefer to think my company more civilised.”

Damon rolls his eyes but his voice softens as he looks down at you. “Ignore the accent. He means well when he’s not trying to kill half the city.” Klaus smirks. “And you mean well when you’re not drowning in guilt and bourbon.”

“Yeah,” Damon says quietly, “but I still mean it.” He glances at you again. “You’re safe. With both of us. Got it?”

Klaus’s gaze joins his, steel and honey. “Indeed. No one touches what we protect.”

The night holds still for a heartbeat two ancient forces, one shared vow. For the first time, their rivalry bends into agreement. And you’re standing in the center of it between danger and devotion, between hellfire and heart.