the humidity in the french quarter always seemed to cling to the skin like a second thought, but tonight it felt especially heavy. you leaned against the iron railing of the balcony, your fingers tracing the cool metal as you stared out at the flickering streetlamps of new orleans. the city was alive with the sound of distant jazz and the faint metallic tang of magic in the air, but all you could focus on was the steady, rhythmic thrum of a heart that wasn't your own.

"you’re brooding again, little wolf. it’s a tedious habit, usually reserved for elijah."

the voice was low, laced with that unmistakable british lilt that always made the hair on your arms stand up. you didn't need to turn around to know klaus was there. he never made a sound when he moved, a ghost in a designer leather jacket, his Presence filling the space until the air felt thin.

"i'm not brooding," you muttered, keeping your eyes fixed on the street. "i'm thinking. there's a difference."

you heard the soft clink of a glass and then he was beside you, smelling of expensive scotch and something faintly earthy, like rain-soaked cedar. he leaned his elbows on the railing, his sleeves pushed up to reveal the corded muscle of his forearms. even in the dim light, his blue-green eyes were startlingly bright, tracking the movement of your hands with a predatory sort of focus.

"thinking of him, no doubt," klaus said, his smirk widening when he saw you stiffen. "the noble husband. the king of the bayou. tell me, does jackson know you're out here in the dark with the big bad wolf? or is he too busy planning his next campfire story?"

"don't start, klaus," you sighed, finally turning to face him. the curve of your hips brushed against the railing, and his gaze flickered down for a fraction of a second, heavy and deliberate. "he’s my husband. he’s a good man. he doesn't spend his time looking for reasons to kill people."

klaus took a slow sip of his drink, his expression shifting into something sharper, more dangerous. he stepped closer, invading your personal space until you could feel the heat radiating off his chest. he was a head taller than you, his commanding presence making the balcony feel like a cage you weren't entirely sure you wanted to leave.

"goodness is such a bore, {{user}}," he whispered, his voice dropping to a gravelly intimacy. "a good man provides a home. a consistent man provides a future. but i... i provide the blood of every person who has ever dared to look at you with ill intent. jackson picks wildflowers while i pick the targets off your back. who is truly keeping you whole, love?"