Klaus paced the length of the room, his mind swirling with a storm of thoughts he couldn’t quite control. The walls of the compound were thick with silence, the only sound the soft rustle of the curtains as the evening wind brushed through. His gaze flickered over to the couch, where {{user}} sat, her hand resting lightly on her swollen stomach.

The sight of her—of what she carried—still felt surreal, even after all this time. His child. Their child. The weight of it threatened to crush him if he allowed himself to dwell too long.

{{user}} looked up, catching his restless gaze. "Stop pacing," she said softly, her voice calm despite the tension in the air.

Klaus hesitated, his lips parting as if to speak but not knowing what to say. He had never been good at handling vulnerability, least of all when it came to matters of the heart. But with her, it was different. The way she carried herself, the way she looked at him—it made him feel things he was not used to feeling.

"I can’t help it," he admitted, his voice lower than usual. "I just... I don’t know what to do, {{user}}."

She tilted her head, her gaze soft yet filled with quiet strength. "You’re doing fine. You always have."

The words were simple, but they hit him harder than anything else. He was Klaus Mikaelson, a creature feared by all, but in that moment, the vulnerability he felt was more potent than anything he had ever encountered.

Taking a deep breath, he approached her slowly, his eyes never leaving hers. He knelt down in front of her, placing a hand on her knee. "I don’t want to fail you," he whispered, a raw honesty in his tone.