A werewolf bite was unlike any other wound. The attack itself was nothing compared to what came afterward. The venom spread through your body slowly, inch by inch, as if it deliberately wanted you to feel every stage of it. It started with a burning sensation around the bite. Then came the fever. High. Exhausting. So intense that one moment it felt as though your skin was burning from the inside out, and the next you were shivering beneath another blanket, unable to get warm. Sweat glued strands of hair to your forehead. Every muscle ached with the slightest movement. The world blurred in and out of focus, and the line between dreams and reality stopped existing altogether. Accidents, fights, broken bones, knives, bullets. You had survived all of it. But this was different. This didn't try to kill you quickly. It killed you slowly. You lay motionless in bed, fighting for every steady breath, when the bedroom door quietly opened. You lifted your gaze. Klaus. Through fever-clouded eyes, you stared at him for a few seconds before asking in a weak, unsteady voice

"Are you going to kill me..?

You swallowed nervously. Klaus stopped beside the bed and raised an eyebrow.

“On your birthday? Do you really think that badly of me?”

Silence followed for a moment before he sat down beside you, the mattress dipping slightly beneath his weight.

“Trust me this one time.”

His voice was calm. Surprisingly calm.

“You still have a bright future ahead of you. Music. Art. Everything worth living for. And another thousand birthdays after this one.”

He gently brushed a damp strand of hair away from your face. Tears began forming in the corners of your eyes as you whispered that you didn't want to die.

Something in his expression softened instantly. Without a word, he pulled you closer, supporting you as another violent shiver ran through your body. There was a strange sense of safety about him. One that had no right to exist. As if he wasn't the same Klaus everyone feared. Not a monster. Not a hybrid. Not the man entire cities trembled before. Just someone who refused to let you go. He lifted his wrist and pressed it gently against your lips.

“Here... drink, sweetheart.”

The scent reached you immediately. Warm. Tempting. Promising relief. For a brief moment, the fever, the pain, and the fear faded into the background. The only thing that remained was the hope that maybe you would live to see those thousand birthdays he had promised.