Archive of Our Own ^beta

She knows she’s late.

Elena hurries out of her room and through the dormitory building’s wide and empty corridors to the front porch. She squats and deposits the dog treats gently on the edge of the porch steps and waits.

This isn’t how they usually do this. She leaves the treats and he comes and enjoys them in the quiet of the night while she sleeps. But after the last few evenings where he’s emerged from the shadows and gobbled up the treats with her standing by the front door, Elena selfishly doesn’t want to miss her new friend.

So, she waits.

Brushing her hands soundlessly together, she peers over her shoulder at the bright front window and listens to the loud laughter and voices murmuring behind the glass.

What lays beyond the glass isn’t a world she belongs to anymore. Silhouettes move against the murky glass; she can hear her friends bark their laughter at a joke she would’ve chuckled meekly at. She joins them on occasion, but the woman who stands or sits and laughs and drinks is a mere slip of a girl she thinks is buried six feet under in four graves. Split into quarters and resting with Miranda, Grayson, Jenna, and John. There should be a fifth, but before anyone could grab the shovel from its shed, she’d gasped and broken away from death’s grip again.

The night’s quiet. Her friend won’t be joining her this evening. Sighing quietly, Elena stands and ignores the disappointment sinking like stones in her gut.

She startles when she finds him standing in front of her with his hands behind his back. He’s not who she had been hoping to see. He’s the ghoul she’d tried to exorcise out of her life.

Klaus glows in the moonlight in his light grey sweater. His hair’s a little messier than she remembers it; he’s let it grow out, but it’s still tamed, making him appear youthful and disarming. He looks oddly human and beastly all at once. The night’s shadows drape across his face, making his cheeks look a touch hollower than she remembers.

Elena clenches her jaw and stands a little taller, rolling her shoulders back. The only route to flee is behind her, through the heavy door of her dormitory and the corridors inside. She’d never make it off the porch. The students inside of the first room won’t even hear her scramble or scream if he was to snatch her.

Klaus doesn’t make an attempt to approach her. He stands obediently as if there’s an invisible line he can’t cross between them. He smiles. She wants to slap it right off his face.

"The dog treats have been very appreciated, love," he says, his voice too warm for her liking.

She purses her lips angrily and swallows heavily. Betrayal hits her sharply like fangs splitting skin. She should’ve known the wild dog that’s been following her in the late evenings and into the night wasn’t a mere innocent dog. It was someone else, a wolf in an innocent being’s skin.

His lips quirk upward smugly. Elena knows immediately she’s wearing her disgust and surprise all too vividly on her face.

But she can’t help it. It curdles in her like something rotten. Her heart aches for what she’d last seen held in his hands. When she looks at him, all she sees is Jenna’s blood coating his upper arms and elbows. It still drips freshly from his maw.

Elena glares, standing taller, turning herself into a blade she hopes one day can put him down. "If I’d known it was you, I would’ve poisoned them."

He makes a low noise of amusement and ducks his head boyishly. Elena lifts her head higher, chin jutted out defiantly. She refuses to shift her gaze from him. The last time she had done that, she’d lost everything dear to her. There’s nothing left for him to take, but she’s certain he’d find something.

"Such hostility," he chuckles condescendingly, shaking his head. He inhales deeply, his sigh put upon. Elena doesn’t tear her gaze away from his theatrics. "You’d think you’d be a little warmer at the sight of an old friend."

"We’re not friends," Elena says incredulously, jaw setting harshly in disgust. He continues to smile, his eyes shiny, his teeth so white. She should’ve known the handsome shaggy wolf-like dog was him. Nothing ever haunts her like the monsters she thought she had buried deep in the woods, and he’s the one she’s tried to bury the deepest.

"Sure we are," he says, his lips curving upward. His smile is too fake, too pretty. "We share a bond, you and I. It’s unbreakable." She recoils. The thought of remaining tethered to him makes her want to gag. When she doesn’t bite and spit vitriol, he inhales deeply through his nose and glances up, taking in the building with feigned interest. His smile doesn’t waver. "You and I are bound by fate."

"We’re not," Elena says, shaking her head. Her lip curls upward. She can taste months’ old blood saturate her tongue. When she had collapsed in his arms in the middle of the darkened woods, she had bit her tongue so hard she’d had blood in her mouth for hours. It resurfaces now; the blood’s never left her hands nor his. "You got what you wanted."

"Didn’t you?" He regards her with a condescending tilt of his head and a cock of his brow. "You’re free, aren’t you?"

The way he stares at her makes her uncomfortable. Elena shifts on her feet despite not wanting to move at all. He wins that way. Every time she reacts, he wins, and Elena’s tired of losing.

Where she’d expected his lips to curve higher, he merely stands still as he regards her curiously. Something in her gut curdles angrily. Her throat tightens and her vision blurs.

She’s not free. Jenna is dead. Jeremy’s broken. Stefan is gone. Damon’s unapproachable. Her family home feels more like a crypt than the town graveyard ever has. Despite the dormitory’s never-ending sounds, she’s never felt more enclosed in a quiet, empty space.

And it’s all because of him.

She inhales deeply and steels her shoulders again. She ignores the angry tear slipping from the corner of her eye. Jenna deserved more than Elena on her knees, shaking and unable to ground up the courage to leap through flames to protect her. She deserved better than to be a pawn on the chessboard Elena was born on.

The arrogant look on his face shifts, the corner of his lips drooping. The arrogance abandons him quickly. He looks puzzled, his eyes flickering over her strangely with a wet shine to his eyes.

Elena inhales deeply, feels the night air fill in the empty pockets inside of herself, and lets it out through her nose like she’s a dragon about to breathe fire. It’s the first time in a long time that she’s realised the big bad wolf doesn’t deserve an answer.

Something in his expression softens. He looks slightly bewildered—though, she can’t figure out why.

There used to be so much she had wanted to say to him. She’d once written a grand speech angrily in her diary, decrying him as a man and disparaging him for the monster he was. But she finds none of those words come to her now. She stares at him with pity warming her gut, and she smiles mirthlessly. He flinches.

She shakes her head. "Enjoy the treats, Klaus."

Elena turns on her heel and slips inside of the dormitory hall. He doesn’t follow. That’s what surprises her the most.

When Elena tucks herself into bed, she purposefully keeps herself awake. Restlessness lingers on the very edges of her peripherals before she allows it to swarm her and drown her. She thinks of him, of the non-existent clues that should’ve told her that it was him in the shaggy dog skin. When she thinks about closing her eyes, she grabs her phone and scrolls through the messages she’s left unanswered from Bonnie and Caroline.

If she closes her eyes, he’ll be there. And Elena doesn’t want to be haunted tonight.

But every time she thinks of Caroline and Bonnie, she can’t help but wander back to the weeks she’d spent feeding a stray dog. It’d come to her randomly after her first month at college. She’d felt alone without her two best friends and without the company of Jeremy. Although she could’ve travelled back and forth between her childhood home and campus, she hadn’t wanted to slip into Jenna’s car. It belonged to Jeremy now. Her refusal to claim it had led her brother to care for it, and she thinks it’s better he have a project to focus on than for her to take a car she’ll let rot before she sits in it and sees Jenna still alive inside of it.

She’d been sitting at one of the benches on campus when it had snuck up on her and nudged her ankle with its snout and had rested its head against her foot. Without anyone around to claim it in the early hours of the morning, she’d thought the poor thing had wandered in from the streets.

It’d followed her back to her dormitory. To stop him from inviting himself inside, she’d opened the bag of dog treats Claire had bought to take to her parents for the weekend and had dropped a handful of biscuits on the steps. She’d been able to leave then with a good conscience knowing she’d fed a poor, helpless creature.

And when she’d left the dormitory for her evening walk around campus, the dog had been sitting patiently on the stone pathway waiting for her. After buying a few bags of treats, Elena had claimed the dog as her own, and he’d claimed her as his.

She should’ve known better. Only monsters claim a harbinger of death like her.

She grits her teeth and presses her face harder into the pillow. Once again, he’s taken from her, stripping her of a semblance of normal she had been desperately clutching to her chest.

Eventually, Elena sleeps and dreams of nothing. When she wakes, she lies in bed and listens to her friend move about their shared dormitory. She wishes she had thought to close her bedroom door. The dorm room has a large living space and small kitchenette, and two rooms on opposite sides. Elena’s room is closest to the living space with Claire’s closer to the kitchenette.

Elena remains in bed, the sheets pulled down to her hips. Resting on her belly, she listens to her roommate tiptoe kindly around the dorm and closes her eyes when Claire might be able to see her. Elena wants to pretend she’s asleep. Every time she does, Claire moves silently like a ghost around the dorm room and slips out the door without making a sound.

She’s pretty, taller than Elena, a little less bubbly than Caroline. She’s as smart as Bonnie with long, dark hair. She wears bright yellow tops that compliment her olive skin and several colourful bangles on her wrist that tinkles gently as if it’s a wind chime. She’s kind and she’s nice, but Elena, despite her friendliness, keeps her at a distance. It’s better that way. She wants Claire to live to see graduation.

Once Claire’s left the dorm room, Elena rolls out of bed and begins to pad around. She moves on autopilot, brushing her teeth, dressing in jeans and a top. She checks her phone and smiles at Caroline’s messages spamming her home screen and reprimanding her for replying at three and four in the morning and the sole one from Bonnie detailing her travels overseas.

When she slips out of her dorm, she keeps her head bowed as she walks out of the building’s front door. She tells herself she’s not afraid, but she knows she is. If she looks up, he may be there—and, this time, for this one instance, Elena wants to bury her head in the sand. The big, bad wolf has huffed and puffed and blown apart her life one too many times.

Slowing her pace down the porch steps, she stops when she notices the dog treats are still where she’d left them. Something tugs uncomfortably at her gut. Elena ignores it and walks to her first class.

Her guard lowers well into the next week until it’s almost ash beneath her feet. He’s clearly lost interest. When prey doesn’t play along with its predator, the predator tends to wander away, listless and in search of someone who will play their tedious games. It’s the one lesson that Damon taught her. Predators want to play. Damon’s lessons didn’t factor in old, patient predators who bided their time and led their prey to believe that they were disinterested.

Elena stops and recoils at the door of her lecture hall. Students push past her, taking her elbow to the chest and side as they do. Despite them brushing against her, she doesn’t move. She’s frozen in place, desperate to slink into the shadows even though she wishes to remain a bursting beam of stubborn resilience. She’s not afraid of him. She’s stopped being afraid of him when she buried Jenna.

She hugs her notebook tighter to her chest and refuses to look his way. He’s waiting for her outside of her Literature lecture. If she doesn’t look at him, maybe he’ll disappear. Elena’s wished for more impossible things.

Klaus easily falls into step beside her, his arms tucked behind his back. He smiles like he’s the sun and walks so closely his elbow almost brushes into her. Elena sidesteps him, trying to put as many students between them, but he stays beside her like the loyal dog he is.

"Leave me alone, Klaus," she says, ducking her head.

He keeps his head lifted and smiles pleasantly. Some of the women and men they pass take a second glance at him, letting their gazes glide over him like he’s some delicious offering. She knows he’s an attractive sight on campus, but looks can be deceiving. What’s tucked inside of such a pretty package is rot.

He smiles at her and leans closer. She ignores him, looking away, not wanting to see him from even the corner of her eye. She walks faster; he matches her step.

"I just wanted to say hello," he says, voice chipper.

"Bye."

He laughs. "You’re a funny one, Elena."

"And you’re a stalker," she mutters under her breath. To someone like him, she’s sure it sounds like a shout. She picks up the pace and tries to storm across the pathway and onto the grass. He’s still behind her, meeting her every step, unpersuaded by her lack of interest.

"I was in the neighbourhood and I thought I’d offer to carry your books," he says. For all the reasons she hates him, him not sounding out of breath is landing itself high on her list. She tries to walk faster, but he’s in her peripherals. "But it appears you have that all sorted."

"Yup," she snaps. "I sure do."

He remains behind her and doesn’t try to step beside her again. Quietly, he follows her, and she stupidly guides him towards the campus library. Elena can’t break into a run and leave him behind. Klaus is a predator, a wolf who feeds off of fear. He’s here because she hasn’t snapped that leash yet.

With each step she takes, her breathing grows shallower, terser. It becomes harsh, her chest feeling heavy with fear. The butterflies in her chest flutter around anxiously. Adrenaline pumps violently through her body, but Elena does her best to try and calm it. Deep breath in, short, stuttered breath out. She almost gasps on her breaths, drowning. It only makes her panic rise faster.

As she reaches the library doors, she whips around and hugs her books defensively to her chest. He’s a few steps behind her, stopping abruptly. "Leave me alone, Klaus," she snaps tersely. "Just leave me alone!"

He looks slightly hurt, his face crestfallen. His hands remain behind his back. When she expects some smart retort, his lips remain pressed together. He studies her in a way that makes her feel naked. Watching her curiously, his brows furrow and he nods.

Elena’s unsure of how to read him, but she sees this as an opportunity and slips inside of the library.

Hours later, when she peers through one of the windows near the front of the library, she’s grateful to find he’s not there. When she returns to her dormitory building, she stops and glares at the fresh dog treats that linger on her porch. Ants have begun to crowd around them. Still, he doesn’t take her sacrificial offering.

She doesn’t break her dog treat habit, and neither does he snap his. She much prefers being followed by a four-legged potentially furry friend than a two-legged beast, but despite her quiet prayers for him to return to his soft paws, Klaus remains in his human form.

She does her best to ignore him over the next two weeks, sidestepping away from him, lingering in her classes in the hopes he’ll think another long-haired brunette is her. She can never trick him. Klaus always waits patiently for her with his hands behind his back and a mirthful smile on his face. It’s strange to see him appear light, even though something sags his shoulders and makes the corners of his lips droop down despite his best attempts to smile brightly.

She spends more of her time wondering what his play is than paying attention to her classes. She writes nothing down, needing to borrow someone else’s notes. She’s allowing it to happen again. She’s letting Klaus Mikaelson distract her once more. It’d happened during her junior year of high school and she hates that it’s carried through to college. This was meant to be the one place where she was free of it all, of being the doppelgänger, of having monsters in her bed.

Elena sighs heavily when she spots him waiting outside of her Creative Writing class. She thinks to turn back and crawl out of one of the windows onto the opposite side of campus. It doesn’t matter to her that it’d make her walk back to her dorm a few minutes longer. Avoiding him is ideal.

But she’s tired of monsters making her change her chosen path.

Stepping outside of the doorway, she holds her books against her chest and regards him tiredly. He’s been her ghost around campus, silent by her side, at her heels. He’s an overeager unwanted puppy she wishes would take a hint.

She approaches him. "Why are you here?" she asks exasperatedly.

He licks his lips and looks down. His brows pinch. He looks like a college student, even with the light scruff on his neck. He’s dressed in a light green sweater that clings to him, tight jeans that should stifle him, and he’s still wearing his necklace. She wishes Klaus had difficulty fitting in.

"I was in the neighbourhood," he says, smiling wide. His typical answer, in his cheery tone. The way he smiles makes his eyes crinkle, but it’s not in an attractive way. He’s off—not that Elena has any idea of who Klaus is as a person beyond the monster who lurks in the shadows and apparently stalks her on campus. But something about him is strangely put together. It’s like he’s a broken vase that’s been put together with the weakest glue.

Elena takes an unbidden step closer to him. It seems to rattle him slightly, making him pull his shoulders back and lift his head. He furrows his brows as he regards her.

"Please," she says on a desperate breath. She tilts her head to the side and looks at him pleadingly. Her chest grows hot and her hands grapple at her notebooks against her chest as if it’s a buoy. She’s in a tumultuous ocean with his hands wrapped around her ankles and trying to pull her down beneath the surface. Her expression and voice crack, "Please, just tell me why."

Klaus looks down. With his hands clasped behind him, she can’t tell how he truly feels. She’s found that hands can reveal so much about a person—how they hold them, what they’re holding, if they’re twisting their fingers as if they’re made of paper. But Klaus hides that opportunity to read him.

He licks his lips. She waits impatiently for him to answer; when she thinks he won’t, he takes a small step towards her. She doesn’t take a step back despite wanting to. "I have a predicament that I believe you can help me with," he says, not looking at her.

She narrows her eyes and shakes her head. "What could I possibly help you with?"

He presses his lips together in a tight line. Clearing his throat, he rubs his hand against his mouth roughly. He doesn’t look at her. The apples of his cheeks are a rough pink.

"Klaus," she snaps.

The words come out slowly through his gritted teeth: "I cannot feel anything but your pain."

Her brows furrow together tightly. Narrowing her eyes, she takes a step closer to him. Looking at his mouth, she waits for his lips to form words that she can comprehend. "I’m sorry?"

He licks his lips angrily. "Everything you feel," he says, the words sounding like they’re causing him agony, and she supposes they are considering he can lift his head but not his eyes to look at her, "I feel."

She scrunches up her face and shakes her head incredulously. "How?"

"A witch’s curse," he mutters, glancing up at her. His expression’s cracked wide open; Elena wishes to look away, but she’s always faced her monsters head-on, no matter how vulnerable they may appear. The way he refuses to meet her gaze properly is compelling. She feels a flush of arrogance bloom within her chest. "I… caused her great harm, so she thought it was best to do the same to me."

Finally, the incredulity and confusion soften within her. That, at least, makes sense. Elena cocks her brow haughtily.

"Yes," he snaps, nodding. He regards her angrily, lifting his gaze. Lips pressing into an unimpressed, sharp line, he says through gritted teeth, "I feel your amusement."

Embarrassed, she clears her throat.

Looking away from him, she watches him from the corner of her eye. She readjusts her hold on her books. When she focuses her feelings, all she feels is her own swarm of emotions. There’s nothing intrusive or strange within her trepidation or incredulity. It’s all her. For the first time in a long time, Elena can confirm she’s her own person to feel and own.

Except she has to share herself with him. Again.

She narrows her eyes thoughtfully and furrows her brows. "Did she curse you to only feel me?"

He licks his lips and shakes his head. "No," he says. "My siblings, in particular. Kol enjoyed making me grovel for his forgiveness greatly. I’m certain I’ll never truly be free of this curse, but it’s gotten better."

Truthfully, Elena’s not entirely certain what she’s meant to say to that. Hugging her books tighter to her chest, she looks up at him through her eyelashes and watches him curiously. He’s licking his lips angrily again, his jaw twitching. He’s looking down, his hands remaining behind his back. He’s tight and ready to snap, and she hates that her feet aren’t listening to her head to run.

She thinks to. Feels her feet shift against the ground. But her Converse shoes stay stubbornly in place.

"How am I supposed to help you?"

He shrugs. "I don’t know, Elena," he says, exasperated. "Get your witch friend on it."

Inhaling deeply and roughly, she tilts her head upward as she watches him. He refuses to look at her, only glancing at her skittishly. She licks her lips and shakes her head. "Bonnie’s not going to help you."

He narrows his eyes. "She’ll help you."

Elena shakes her head. "She won’t," she says again. Something hot and angry begins to burn in her chest, crackling like angry wildfire. His indignation only fuels it, making it burst into flame until she’s nothing but an inferno. She shakes her head again, her jaw tightening. "Maybe you feeling a little human emotion might do you some good. You go around inflicting pain on everyone you can touch, and you don’t care. Maybe this is your penance."

His eyes widen angrily, nostrils flaring. He opens his mouth to speak.

"I’m not going to help you," she says, shaking her head. Her lips curve upward. Enjoyment bubbles intrusively in her chest. She wants to laugh, and so she does—a hollow sound that’s mirthless, but it feels so good to laugh. "No," she says again, smiling wider.

Elena chuckles to herself and turns, walking away. She leaves him fuming outside of her lecture hall. She laughs all the way to her dormitory, though she doesn’t feel pure amusement warm her chest. All she feels is pity.

When Elena doesn’t see him for a week, she foolishly thinks he’s finally given up. Perhaps Klaus Mikaelson truly is capable of acknowledging a losing battle.

For five days, she walks her usual routes on campus without glancing over her shoulder. She enjoys the company of her friends, her phone calls to Bonnie and Caroline, and being hung up on by an exasperated Jeremy who barks that he doesn’t need a mother but he’ll definitely, absolutely make sure he does the washing tonight.

After spending a late night studying in the library, Elena keeps her head down as she walks through the front door of the dormitory building. With Claire gone for the weekend, Elena has every plan on commandeering the television and lounging around in her pyjamas for the next two days—starting tonight.

She comes to an abrupt stop in the hallway.

Klaus stands at her door with his hands clasped behind his back as he patiently waits. He looks slightly sheepish, something that makes him fit in with the college students who flutter around campus.

Elena doesn’t smile. She stands a few feet away, refusing to move. She wants to shove past him and walk into her space, but she’s afraid of how close he is to the door. Even Red Riding Hood’s grandmother hadn’t been able to outwit the wolf even after the long life she had lived. Elena knows she won’t be able to get close to him without him barricading the knob.

"I’m sorry," he says quietly.

Her eyes narrow and her face scrunches up incredulously. She shifts her books in her hands and stares at him flatly. "For?"

He huffs angrily. Klaus inhales deeply and peers up at the ceiling as if he’s trying to find patience and has the right to be put out and angry by her. She watches him, steeling her shoulders, her jaw setting tightly for the inevitable blow. All he’s capable of is inflicting pain.

"For your loss," he says. He doesn’t look at her. He’s staring up at the ceiling. Her heart stops; his eyes uncharacteristically shine. Klaus’ throat tightens and he continues to look up at the milky white ceiling as if it’ll relieve him of his burden. "For… Jenna."

Elena stops breathing.

Clenching her teeth, she sets her jaw so tightly she’s surprised she doesn’t smash every tooth in her mouth. She brushes her hair slowly and angrily behind her ear, but strands fall away and back into her face.

He continues to peer up at the ceiling; briefly, she wonders if she’d merely misheard. Klaus doesn’t apologise. Klaus doesn’t self-reflect. He moves forward and terrorises innocent people and destroys lives. He embodies the cruelty of the monsters that lurk in the dark.

But his expression twists and he determinedly looks up at the ceiling. She thinks she sees him wince. And that makes something hot and angry curdle in her gut.

Everything inside of her begins to close in, swelling until she can’t think of anything but Jenna’s face cracked open in pain as he split her neck.

"She’s dead because of you," she says angrily, her tone as even as she can make it. It sounds like a blade’s been forged in the smithy of her mouth. She glares at him; he, at least, has the decency to look at her.

Decency and Klaus Mikaelson. She thinks to laugh, but she can’t even breathe.

"You killed her."

He nods, but his head barely moves. It’s almost as if he’s afraid to move. "As I’m aware."

"Jenna is dead because of you," she says, keeping her tone even. She hiccups, her breathing shallow. Her feet move before she can think. She broaches the distance between them and reclaims the territory he’s trespassed. She stands before him, close enough to see the green in his eyes. He stands tall, but something in him seems to crumble.

Good. She wants him hurt.

"You took her from me," she says, not looking away from him. Her vision blurs, but he still remains sharp in her memory. His lips pinch, his eyes unwaveringly on hers. He looks pained like she’s the one who’s wronged him.

She wants to bury him in it, that pained, unmovable feeling that’s clearly drowning him.

"You killed her, and you’re sorry?"

"I am."

She chuckles hollowly. Shaking her head. "I hate you."

Shoving past him, she opens her door and slams it behind her. Locking it, she throws her books to the floor before sitting heavily against the door. Her entire body feels like lead. Her head feels weighted, her thoughts consumed with memories of fire and a witch’s chanting. With her knees pulled up to her chest, she curls in on herself, hiding her head in her hands to try and hide from the big bad wolf as she sobs loudly.

"I’m aware," he says through the door. Elena has no idea how long he stays there, but he’s long gone before the sun rises.

It’d been foolish to think he’d truly leave her alone. His admittance of guilt hadn’t been enough to free him of the cage he’s found himself in. Elena knows this. She doesn’t require a Grimoire or over a thousand years of living to know that a mere "sorry" won’t see Klaus free of his curse.

She wishes it had been enough. She wants him to leave her alone, to stop haunting her like a ghoul.

But a part of her, twisted and angry and curdling, likes the hum of power she feels at Klaus Mikaelson struggling to humble himself before her. It’s justice. It’s a reckoning she knows she deserves. After everything he’s put her friends through, she thinks this is how she can make him pay for their lingering hurt.

When she steps outside of her Literature class and finds him leaning against a thick pillar, she doesn’t pivot on her foot and walk in the other direction. Elena regards him quietly with disinterest for a moment as he watches her, his lips pressed in an uncertain line. She feels a warm rush of power in her chest.

She walks up to him and hands him her books. He takes them quietly, obediently, and steps into stride beside her. She wraps her arms around her chest and refuses to look at him as she walks past other students. He follows silently; it reminds her of when he took on a kinder silhouette behind her. He had been an obedient, kind dog that had let her scratch behind his ears and hug him to her chest in the moments where all she felt like doing was crumbling.

Standing on the top step of her dormitory’s steps, she holds out her hands for her books. He places them in her palms, his fingers brushing against hers. Elena ignores her shiver.

Wrapping her arms around her books protectively, she hugs them to her chest like they’re a metal breastplate. Peering down at him, she finds she likes the fact he has to tilt his chin upward to look her in the eye. She’s tired of him looking down on her.

Pressing her lips together, she cocks her brow slightly. "How does it feel?" she asks quietly. His brow lifts, interested, listening. "Being near me."

His gaze drops to her throat for a moment as if the hollow holds all the words he needs. It doesn’t; every piece of her refuses to hold the answer for him. Elena’s blood may have been his to possess, but her anger is hers and hers alone. She wields it as a sword despite her clumsy and unpracticed hands.

She waits patiently and ignores the way anxious butterflies drown in her chest. He stares at her for an uncomfortably long time, his expression pinched. He doesn’t regard her like a hungry animal.

She fears he feels nothing. She’s afraid that death has taken everything from her. She doesn’t want to be an empty shell. She wants to be burnt earth slowly flourishing again beneath the kind and nourishing hand of time.

He licks his lips and releases a quiet, heavy breath. "I feel like I’m drowning."

Inhaling deeply through her nose, she nods. "Good," she says on an exhale. She’s something more than the earth resurrecting; she is death itself.

Turning on her foot, she walks inside of the building and doesn’t look back. He doesn’t follow.

Sliding a book back in its place on the shelf, Elena sighs heavily when the hairs on the back of her neck stand to obedient attention. She licks her lips, resignation settling over her heavily. He’s like a dog with a bone.

"Klaus," she says.

When she looks down the length of the book aisle, he’s standing a few feet away, hands behind his back and a pleased smile on his face. The bright light of the bookstore almost makes him look like he has a halo above his head.

"Elena," he says, his lips curving upward even more.

She rolls her eyes and presses the books she holds to her chest tightly. There’s a whole cart of books she needs to put back in their places before her shift is over and she intends to complete her task with very little distraction. She walks by him, shoving her arm into his shoulder; Klaus laughs and follows her obediently.

"What are you doing here?" she asks, annoyed.

He follows her diligently into the next aisle as she pushes her cart quietly along the wooden floor. Elena watches him from the corner of her eye, ignoring the way her heart skips as he doesn’t seem to falter or grow tired of the very short walk. She slips a book back into its place on a shelf a head higher than her.

"I—"

"Don’t say you were in the neighbourhood."

He chuckles. "I wanted to see you."

Elena regards him with a pointed mirthless look. His necklace sits on top of his plain black shirt. She allows her gaze to linger on his neck, the slight pink tinge to his skin. The lighting of the bookstore makes him look like he could be human.

He smiles bashfully, ducking his head. She hates the way he chuckles; her skin feels hot at the boyish sound.

"I wanted to see how you were doing," he says innocently.

"You wanted to see if the bond was still there," she says, rolling her eyes. Without her cart, she walks down the end of the aisle with a pile of books in her hands and turns into the main back corridor. She doesn’t lead him into the next aisle, passing a few before she disappears inside. He follows her, pushing the cart; Elena ensures to stand a little taller, tugging her shoulders back.

As she squats and pulls a thin book out from the shelf, she slides another in its place.

"People are utterly lazy," he remarks.

She rolls her eyes and places the thin book on her small pile and stands. Giving him another pointed look, she shoves past him and continues her adventure through the aisles. He shadows her patiently.

"So?" Elena turns and stands at the front of an aisle, peering at him expectantly. He stands a little too close for comfort. She can see the hairs of his eyebrows, the freckles on his face. He arches his brow and looks slightly confused. "Is it there?"

He narrows his eyes and she knows he’s being playful. Tapping his finger to his lips, he hums thoughtfully. She rolls her eyes and slips inside of the aisle, muttering to herself.

"I can feel your insatiable lust for me."

"Don’t make me sick," she says, sliding a book back in place on a shelf higher than her head. Rather than shoulder past him, she walks to the opposite mouth of the aisle and continues her slow walk through the bookstore.

He follows her into the next aisle, standing a little too close to her. He watches her as she stands on the tips of her toes and tries to reach a shelf that’s too high for her. Fingers brushing against hers, he peels the book she holds stubbornly from her fingers and easily slides it into place. "It’s still there," he says soberly, looking at her for a moment too long.

Elena regards him uncertainly before she takes to her knees and shoves at books collapsing within the gaps on the shelf. She fills the gap with a thick spine.

"Well," she says a little too loudly, then clears her throat, "I’m going to talk to Bonnie about it."

"Will you tell her?"

Licking her lips, she shakes her head. Anxiety blooms in her gut. Telling Bonnie she’s somewhat bonded to Klaus Mikaelson will only encourage her friend to come back to Mystic Falls, and she wants Bonnie to enjoy her gap year, to travel, to live the life Shiela had recorded for her in her diaries. She doesn’t want Bonnie to worry for once.

"No," she says, looking up at Klaus as she shoves a book roughly back into its place. Her lips pull downward. "I don’t want her to worry."

"You don’t want her to worry about me," he says, pulling his shoulders back. She knows he’s upset; his lips press together in a sharp line and his entire presence, so suffocating and loud, shrinks.

She sighs and shifts on her heels, still remaining on the ground. "Can you blame her?" Cocking her brow, she shakes her head incredulously. "You’re not exactly the nicest person."

"I’m—" At the arch of her brow, his indignation settles. He swallows thickly and she can see him trying again. "I’m… trying," he says reluctantly. "To be better."

"To get out of this," she says, gesturing between the two of them. Something sinks heavily in her gut at the idea of losing this one-sided connection. Bitterly, she snaps, "So you can be free and live your life."

"Elena—"

She rises and turns on her foot, facing him. "I need to work," she says. Looking at him for a prolonged moment, she rolls her shoulders back and latches her hands angrily onto the cart. It’s noisy when she pushes it. As she leaves the aisle, she’s disappointed he doesn’t follow.

"What’s bothering you?" Claire asks, tucking her leg under herself on the couch. After turning down the volume of the television, she drops the remote on the arm closest to her and hugs a throw pillow to her chest.

This is Claire’s listening stance. She hugs a pillow to her chest and turns to face her, intent and ready to listen. It’s one of the things Elena likes about Claire. She’s so genuine.

Elena sighs quietly and keeps her gaze on the television. Even though she’s barely reading the subtitles, it’s better to appear like she’s transfixed by this repeat episode of a show Claire knows she can recite verbatim under command. "Nothing," she says, shrugging. "I’m okay."

"Okay," Claire says, tone disbelieving. Looking at her from the corner of her eye, Elena knows she doesn’t believe her. No one ever does when she wants them to. Although she’s wearing a dress with short sleeves cutting off at the shoulder, Elena knows she’s the doppelgänger who wears her heart openly on her sleeve no matter what she’s wearing. "I mean, I’m not going to judge you," Claire continues kindly, shrugging. "Whatever it is… Does it involve that cute guy?"

Elena shudders in repulsion. That makes Claire chuckle.

"Not the reaction I had been expecting."

Elena curls her lip up in disgust. "I don’t like him," she says, looking down and picking at the fabric of her dress. She’s desperate to crawl out of her skin and see if she’s less weighed down by Klaus Mikaelson’s selfishness. She’s tried many times before, attempting to be a mirror of herself who isn’t the doppelgänger who played the role of harbinger on her innocent town.

But she knows Klaus’ claws have dug deeper than skin level. He’s somewhere in her gut, slowly making his way to her marrow. Elena isn’t so sure what to make of the fact he’s so intrinsically tied to her. Nothing she possesses feels like hers to own anymore, not even her feelings.

"That’s okay," Claire says, shifting on the couch. "Does he know that?"

Elena can’t help but smile gleefully. "Yeah," she says, doing her best not to laugh. She turns to face her, keeping her legs crossed beneath her. She doesn’t face Claire straight on, but the slight turn of her body is enough to let her friend know she’s ensnared. This time, Elena knows that her predator is kind and friendly. "He knows."

"And he won’t leave you alone?"

Elena shakes her head.

"Gross."

Elena nods, smiling. "Yeah," she chuckles lightly. It’s not the full story, but it’s enough. She’s missed weaving tales. She can make Claire believe whatever she wants her to believe of Klaus Mikaelson. Right now, she possesses the power. She presses her lips together and rolls her eyes, knowing Claire won’t reprimand her for not taking the presence of the big bad wolf seriously. "He won’t take a hint."

Claire cocks her brow. "I can call campus security…"

She shakes her head, lifting her hand. "That’s okay," she says. Calling campus security on Klaus is only organising a few unnecessary funerals. She’s tired of being the reason why people are being buried with tombstones erected decades too early. "He’ll grow tired of it soon. I’m sure of it."

Claire doesn’t seem satisfied by her answer, but Elena knows she’ll respect it. Claire only ever throws a punch when she deems it necessary. When a boy who barely looks Elena in the eye but had the gall to slap her ass had crossed paths with Claire, he’d learned the hard way that she wasn’t to be trifled with. Elena had gravitated towards her even more, despite her reservations.

Claire shifts against the couch, watching her curiously. It’s not every day Elena allows her inside of her little world. It’s always Claire and her invitations, Claire insisting on debriefs after getting off the phone with her mother. Elena is a diary bolted shut with an impossible combination to crack.

"Can I ask how you know him?"

"School," Elena says.

Claire hums contemplatively, her eyes narrowing thoughtfully. "He looks a little old to have recently graduated…"

A laugh escapes her. Elena looks up and smiles brightly, finding a bubble of amusement warm her chest. Klaus in high school is a humorous sight. She imagines him in shorts and socks pulled up to his chest and being forced to run around the track for giving the gym teacher lip. She presses her hand against her mouth to try and stifle her laughter.

Claire smiles, chuckling despite arching her brow incredulously. "That funny, huh?"

"Sorry," Elena says, removing her hand from her mouth. "It’s just that… Klaus in high school is a funny thought to me."

"Klaus," Claire repeats, nodding. Elena can already see her slot the name into her permanent memory bank. It sobers her amusement greatly. "Great name."

"If you see him, please don’t say anything," Elena pleads, watching her intently. Gripping the fabric of her dress, she smoothens it out as she tries to subtly shrug the tension from her shoulders.

"Elena…"

"Please," she says, keeping her tone as light as possible. "He’s not worth it, okay?"

Claire watches her for a moment before she nods. "Okay," she says. "If I see him, I’ll just flip him off and continue on my way."

Elena smiles, chuckling. Brushing her hair behind her ear, she nods and turns her body to face Claire fully. "Thank you," she says. "That’s probably the best way to make him go away.’

Claire smiles. "Hey, I’m just happy you and I can talk. And I love having a reason to flip anyone off. If it means I can do it for you? Even better." She winks at her.

They sit on a bench beneath a large oak tree. He sits too close to her, his knee brushing against hers shyly. Elena ignores him and doesn’t pull her leg away, although she does pinch the fabric of her dress against her upper thigh.

All she wants to do is flee. And she knows he knows that, so she tries to bury her feelings deep beneath concrete where he can’t even feel a hum of her emotions. But she doesn’t know how successful she is in trying to feel nothing at all. Klaus says nothing and doesn’t react to anything he may feel. Her paranoia begins to grow root and climb along the arch of her heels and her ankles as it twists its vines around her tightly.

"I lost someone," he says. Elena keepsThey sit on a bench beneath a large oak tree. her gaze straight ahead, refusing to give in to the temptation to even glance at him from the corner of her eye. "Early in my life. My father didn’t want me, but the one person who did… I got him killed."

Controlling her breathing, she licks her tongue along the back of her teeth. She doesn’t find condolences lingering behind them or beneath her tongue. She has no words for him, nothing to give him. The compassion and pity she feels for him buzz lightly within her chest, but it only sinks further to the ocean bed of her willing herself not to care. She doesn’t want to feel any compassion for him.

"I had a little brother," he says quietly. "Henrik." He looks down at his hands; Elena watches Klaus from the corner of her eye, finding herself curious by the way he picks at his jeans. "He wanted to see the wolves, and I could never say no to him. He was the only one besides Rebekah and Elijah who truly saw me. Kol did, but he often saw himself before he saw anyone else."

Swallowing thickly, she opens her mouth and licks at the front of her teeth. "What happened to him?"

"We went to see the wolves one night. It was a full moon," he says, still picking at his jeans. "They shifted and they attacked us, and they almost ripped Henrik in two."

Her throat feels heavy. She thinks to ask him why he’s telling her this, but she knows. It’s an attempt to bond, an attempt to feel that tether snap. But Elena knows it won’t. Nothing will. The void she feels where Jenna had once been is still that: a void.

Despite her attempts to appear as an unmovable boulder, she does feel her fingers twitch. The concrete she’d buried her feelings deep beneath begins to crack under the earthquake of his grief. She understands it all too much, the responsibility of being someone’s inadvertent killer. Her throat tightens and she quietly breathes deeply, wanting to appear as in control as she possibly can.

Without looking at him, she places her hand against his thigh. He stares down at where she touches him.

"I’m sorry," she says quietly, glancing at him before dropping her gaze.

Klaus places his hand on top of hers tentatively. His palm is soft and his fingers slightly calloused. He lingers before he pulls his hand away as if she’s burned him. Elena slips her own hand from his thigh, curling it into her belly and on her lap protectively.

"I understand why you don’t wish to help me," he says, looking at her openly. She keeps her gaze straight ahead, wanting him to only see her profile. "Truly, I do. But if you want me to leave—"

"I have to help you," she exhales quietly, furrowing her brows. "I know."

He lifts his gaze, brow arched. "Will you?"

Elena licks at her teeth, feeling anger and spite curdle in her belly. It would be penance to say no, to make him feel every little feeling she’s ever felt in her life. Elena wants him to be overwhelmed, to drown in it like she has been for years. It’s easier this way. It’s comfortable being thrust into the water and wrapped up in a rip.

If they remain connected, she will always know how to dethrone him. If they remain tethered together, she can bring him beneath the quiet surface of the lake and drown him with her.

"I don’t know how," Elena says, watching a young woman join two men tossing a football a short distance away. Her arm is fierce and strong and she laughs when one of the young men fail to catch the ball. Elena feels no mirth at their happiness. "I’m just a girl."

"You’re more than that," he says, his eyes widening in wonderment. She flushes, turning her head away as he regards her with admiration. "You’re a doppelgänger," he says, and at the distasteful twist of her lips, he continues, "you are a mortal girl who has survived all that life has to batter her with. You may not be a witch, but you are capable of many things, Elena."

She licks her lips and clears her throat, her skin feeling strangely hot and uncomfortable. Scrunching up her face, she shakes her head and looks at his collarbones. His shirt is loose and all she sees is pink skin. "I’m not."

"You’ll be surprised," he says, his lips curving upward into a genuine smile. "I’ve been around a long time. I know what I’m talking about."

Elena stares at him for a long moment before she clears her throat quietly. Sitting back against the bench, she keeps her gaze forward and doesn’t utter a word. She isn’t quite sure what to say. He doesn’t know her. No one does. She barely understands who Elena Gilbert is anymore.

Klaus doesn’t seem to mind the silence.

He sits back, resting his arm against the top of the bench and never touching her. He sits with her for another half hour before she excuses herself. She leaves him sitting on the bench, watching her as she walks the familiar route back to her building.

When she takes her lunch break, Klaus is waiting outside of the bookstore, leaning against the pillar with his arms crossed loosely against his chest. He’s the perfect picture of a young college man in his white t-shirt and jeans. Elena would mistake him for someone sweet and boyish if she didn’t know to look for the sharp, glistening claws of his paws.

Although she glances away, she doesn’t pivot on her foot to flee from him. There’s really no point. This is a routine they’ve developed over the last handful of weeks. He appears, she turns as if she’s about to flee, and then she approaches him like brave Little Red.

She walks to the wolf, just as Little Red had, and holds her purse in both of her hands at her hips. She stands before him with an expectant arch of her brow. "Are you loitering again?"

He quirks his lips upward, ducking his head almost boyishly. She briefly allows herself to enjoy him attempting to feign he’s flushing. "Yes," he nods, smiling. When he lifts his gaze, she’s taken aback by how his eyes are so bright. For a moment, she stupidly believes he’s nothing but a mere man. "I am. Will you report me?"

Pursing her lips, she narrows her eyes and tilts her head to the side as she considers his suggestion. There’s no one to report him to other than his brother, whose number is missing from her phone. "Not for now."

He smiles and she hates the way her heart seems to skip at the sight of his dimples. He pushes off the pillar and lets his arms swing loosely, his hands pressing against the side of his thighs. It’s disarming the way Klaus moves like a human, so free despite what burdens him.

Silently, they begin to walk in the direction Elena’s taken numerous times over the months to her favourite eatery. She doesn’t think to ask him how he knows where she wants to go. Knowing him, he’s done his homework—stalked her from the bushes, followed her scent like a sharp predator, asked too many people of Elena Gilbert and her favourite places to eat.

It isn’t until they’re away from the bookstore’s main building that he inhales deeply. She watches him from the corner of her eye, observing the way he peers up at the sun and squints. Elena looks at the long, strong line of his neck. Freckles disappear beneath the collar of his shirt.

"It’s too beautiful of a day to be inside," he says.

She shrugs. "I have to work."

He looks at her with innocent earnestness and swings his arm. "Then we bring the bookstore outside!"

She laughs, taken aback by his vibrancy. Elena shakes her head incredulously. "You can’t bring the books outside."

"Sure you can!" He swings his arms happily, loose and temporarily free of their shackles. She wonders if he’s floating on her light feelings. All she feels right at this moment is amusement—warm, bubbling, strangely summoned by the way his shoulders are loose and he moves freely, almost sloppily. "All you have to do is collect the books and bring them out. You can even bring the racks to store them in."

"What if it rains?"

"Then you hurriedly shove them inside and fire the person who thought of this absolutely idiotic idea."

She laughs, shaking her head. Brushing her hair behind her ear, she ignores the way she loosely holds her black purse in her hand. She wants to pretend that she’s gripping it tightly, prepared to use it as the weapon she wants it to be if he so much as tries to attack her.

"You’re feeling anxious," he says quietly, watching her. His hands disappear behind his back, clasped protectively at the small of it.

She licks her lips, the butterflies in her gut fluttering sharply. "I’m not," she says, then thinks better of trying to lie. He can feel the way her skin crawls with heat. She wonders if he can feel how discomforting it is to her. "Just the thought of all of those books outside in the rain… It makes me feel anxious."

He smiles, though she’s not quite sure if he believes her. She does her best to try and settle her nerves, to stop those butterflies from fluttering.

"Of course," he says, his dimples appearing once more. She hates the way she stares at them. "I’d feel the same," he says, looking down at the pavement. They walk out in the open sun and into the heart of the campus. Despite the students milling around them, crossing in front of them, walking quickly past them, it feels like the world is just the two of them. "I dislike the destruction of something so innocent."

When he looks at her, she glances away. Clearing her throat, she brushes her hair behind her ear and looks straight ahead. She regrets not bringing her dark sunglasses with her to work. She doesn’t want him to be able to read her any more than he already can. The empathy bond has taken away her ability to conceal her feelings; she wishes to keep her mask in place, no matter how tattered and loose its fit may be.

She doesn’t try to speak to him as they walk off of campus, and he doesn’t attempt to make conversation, either. Walking side by side, she only brushes against him when the sidewalk grows thinner. A thick tree by the roadside and a cluster of students laughing by the college’s iron bar fence forces her to brush her arm against his. When they part, her skin still feels warm from where they’d touched.

He follows her effortlessly as she walks to her favourite café a few storefronts away from the campus. Taking a seat at an outside table, he remains standing for a long moment before he takes the chair opposite her.

She grabs a menu despite knowing what she wants to order. Klaus sits all too comfortably in his chair, looking around as he takes in the sights and people. She knows he just wants to watch her. While there’s no empathy bond connecting her to him, she suspects he’s trying to not be so obvious in wanting to openly observe her now that he has an invitation to something that had solely belonged to her for months.

Even though she tries to read the menu, she can barely focus on the words. He’s too quiet and still in front of her while the world around them is loud and vibrant. The sun’s warm. The umbrella’s shade barely stifles the heat.

"I don’t know if I can ever forgive you," she says, looking down at the menu. She licks her lips and eyes the salads before she lowers the menu completely. He’s watching her, his lips pinched. "But I think I can learn how to hate you less for what you did."

"Elena—"

"You killed my aunt," she states. "You sacrificed me like I was nothing. You tried to kill Bonnie. You wanted to hurt Caroline and Tyler. You killed a woman. That’s a lot of pain you’ve caused, Klaus," she says, keeping her voice even and narrowing her eyes as if he’s the sun trying to blind her. Sometimes, she thinks he is, though she can’t be sure why he wants her to be unable to see him clearly. Since he swept into her life, he’s wanted to be seen, to be heard, to have the attention squarely on him. "I can’t forgive you for killing Jenna—and I won’t. You took her from me and Jeremy," she says, wiping tears from where they cling to her lashes. "A monster killed her."

He ducks his head and remains quiet and still in his seat. Her anger burns her where she sits, the sun barely a hot brush against her skin. She eyes him, her jaw clenching. The menu feels slippery between her hands now.

"And I don’t expect you to apologise and mean it," she says, her heart hammering in her chest. She swallows thickly, her adrenaline blistering. "You believed you were doing it for the right reasons. And I’m sorry that your mother hid who you were from you, I really am. But you killed Jenna."

Klaus lowers his gaze in shame. "I did," he quietly says, nodding.

"And I can’t forget that," she says.

"I don’t think I’d expect you to," he says, looking up at her. "Your grief is like drowning in quicksand."

She glances down. Placing the menu on the table, she leaves it open in front of her. She’s exposed now. It’d been an easy shield to hide behind. But she’s never done well in hiding in the shadows.

Sitting up straighter, Elena feels the hot pricks of shame. She should be better at this, at the grieving part. Maybe even the forgiveness part. Ever since Miranda and Grayson went down in that car…

She should be better at it. It should come to her like breathing now. Grieving those she loves should feel easy. But Elena still hasn’t learned how to stop struggling against the quicksand, to turn slightly to the side and reach for where the ground is solid. She enjoys drowning; she enjoys being unable to move. It’s where she finds herself feeling as though she’s finally come home.

"I can barely breathe sometimes," he says quietly. He’s observing her as she looks down at the edge of the table. There’s a chink she digs her finger into as if she can fix it or damage it. "And I am… beginning to truly feel guilty for pushing your head beneath it."

Her throat feels thick. She grits her teeth and digs at the little chip, unsurprised that it only pushes her nail back. She hisses and presses her thumb against her nail to try and stifle the pain. Klaus feels it, brushing his fingers against his nail bed absently.

"Why don’t you know how to stop this?" she asks, peering up at him. She bites on her lip and presses hard against her finger, glancing down to see the white disappear into the pink of the nail bed. "That’s the one thing I don’t get."

He shrugs. "Magic was never of interest to me," he says. "Kol loved it, and he believes that there are many ways an empathy bond can break."

She cocks her brow. "Like?"

He leans forward, tongue pressing against his lips. It’s his turn to brush his fingers against the surface of the table. "You apologise and genuinely mean it, in the instance you did wrong by that person."

Elena bites her tongue. She doubts any apology he could give her, no matter how seemingly genuine, would break the tether this witch has bound between them. She doesn’t have it in her heart to forgive him.

"You find a powerful witch to untangle the spell," he continues.

She can already predict where he wishes to lead that conversation. Elena shakes her head at his silent Bonnie and tilts her head to the side as she watches him curiously. "What about feeling true empathy?"

He shrugs. "Anything, at this point, could be the answer," he says, looking up at her. He continues to pick at the table’s surface with his blunt nails. "I’ve lived a long life, Elena, and I’m truly stumped."

She bites the inside of her mouth. Nodding, she sighs heavily. "Maybe… I can learn to see you," she says tentatively. Heat flushes her neck. It’s the last thing she wants to do, to show him empathy, to be kinder to him than he has ever been to anyone in his entire life. But Elena wants this broken. She wants to own herself once more and not share herself with another.

She doesn’t want to share herself with Klaus.

He rolls his eyes. "As a monster?"

"Maybe," she says with a shrug. "If that’s what you are. Or maybe I can see you as Niklaus," she says, testing out his name. He flinches, keeping his gaze downcast. Elena watches him openly, studying the tight press of his lips. He’s afraid of the ghost he once was. They have that in common.

If he wants to compel the name from her lips, he doesn’t. Elena watches him as he refuses to look at her. His expression remains pained and she thinks the twist of his lips and the way he curls in on himself is Klaus at his most vulnerable and uncomfortable. He falls back against his chair and petulantly holds his hands in his lap and looks down.

"Do you want me to leave?" he finally asks.

Yes.

It’s a simple answer. It’s the only answer. It has to be the only response she can give him. But Elena pauses.

She swallows thickly, her mouth dry. She watches him quietly for a long moment before she inhales deeply through her nose. The butterflies remain hot and heavy in her chest. Her skin’s warm with anger. But she finds the idea of him leaving tugs at something twisted and tangled tightly in her gut.

He is the only person currently in her life who sees her for who and what she is.

"No," she says, leaning back into her chair. She slouches and looks away, licking her lips. She purposefully keeps her gaze off of his, watching him from the corner of her eye as he studies her. "I want to have lunch and I don’t want to have it alone."

He smiles tentatively. Slouching in his chair, he rests his arms against the armrests and taps his fingers annoyingly against the metal.

She turns her head and frowns at him. When the tapping grows louder and follows no rhythm at all, she narrows her eyes and snaps, "Stop that."

He doesn’t. She throws her napkin at him and smiles at his warm bark of laughter.

As Elena applies pale pink lipstick to her lips, she watches Claire uncharacteristically linger in the dorm room. She’s used up every excuse she possibly can to explain why she’s lingering when she has a study date to get to. Claire’s long hair is braided tightly down her back and her bare feet pad quietly along the floor. Sometimes, Elena thinks she’s part vampire.

"What?" Elena asks, smiling a little awkwardly. She brushes her fingers against her lips and smacks them, watching her roommate through the mirror of the bathroom.

"Nothing," Claire shrugs. Elena smiles and turns around, crossing her arms against her chest as she steps out of the bathroom and regards her pointedly. The one thing about Claire that’s made her feel like home is how she reminds her of both Caroline and Bonnie. She’s nosy like Caroline, but patient in the way she lets Elena open herself up slowly to her like Bonnie. "It’s just… you’ve been hanging out with non-cute stalker guy a lot."

Elena scrunches up her face and ignores the light fluttering of butterflies in her gut. "Ew."

Claire laughs. "So, are we liking him now? I want to know if I’m going to upset you if I give him the finger."

Pursing her lips, she considers Claire’s question. She should say no. It’d be easy to utter the one word. It’s what she would’ve said weeks ago if Claire had asked her again about Klaus. But, strangely, she purposefully stalls, reluctant to offer Claire an answer.

Unwrapping her arms from her chest, Elena walks to the couch and fixes the positioning of the throw pillows. "I don’t like him."

"But you hang out with him."

Elena wishes Claire wouldn’t say that in that patient motherly tone. It’s the tone Elena uses on her friends when they’re making any type of decision that sees them acting differently, perhaps courageously.

"It’s… complicated," Elena says, sparing her a glance. Claire watches her with interest, her arms still crossed against her chest. "And, no, I won’t explain why."

Claire laughs. "Okay," she says, holding up her hands in mock surrender. "But tell me… why hang out with him if you don’t like him?"

Sometimes, she really hates Claire. Elena wonders if Caroline had truly given her a pep talk on how not to let her get away with wishy-washy answers. Caroline had threatened as much when she’d stayed at the dorm during Elena’s first week, desperate to see her friend settle in before allowing herself to leave.

Elena licks at her lips and picks up a pillow that’s half-tucked beneath the couch. She purposefully slows her movements, wanting to bide herself some time. It’s a question she’s asked herself over and over since handing Klaus her books. It’s part pity and part… intrigue.

What is she doing with Klaus?

Claire smiles, shaking her head. "It’s okay, you know," she says.

Elena arches her brow and eyes her curiously. "What is?"

"To like someone like that," she says. "I don’t need to know why you want to dislike him, but if you enjoy his company and like the fact that he’s around…" She shrugs. "Why not let yourself enjoy it?"

"Because it’s complicated," Elena says, feeling something heavy hit her gut.

"Everything’s complicated," Claire says kindly, "but not everything is simple. And maybe this can be that."

Even in the dark, she can sense him. Perhaps there is a point in their seemingly one-sided connection that has Elena feeling what he feels. But she’s beginning to think she’s merely becoming accustomed to his habits. Klaus doesn’t walk heavily, always gliding along the ground.

She doesn’t glance over her shoulder to confirm whether he’s walking behind her along the sidewalk. She knows. Elena keeps her gaze focused straight ahead, her posture as relaxed as she can possibly make it. The thing that Klaus fails to understand is that she’s used to being followed by creatures of the dark. It’s all she really knows. They sometimes nip at her heels like eager pups, and she sometimes stupidly lets them take a bite out of her.

Although it’s tempting to inform him that she knows he’s there, Elena prefers the idea of him breaking the silence. It’ll mean he’s desperate enough to talk to her, to be seen by her… and that’s the power she has, him wanting her to look at him.

She turns a corner and refuses to smile when he uses that as his momentum to lengthen his strides and step all too casually beside her.

From the corner of her eye, she can see that he’s smiling. It’s a little put on, but there’s a genuine curve to it. He seems at ease, his shoulders relaxed, his clothes free of any blood and dirt to suggest he was up to something nefarious like playing the local Boogeyman.

"Why are you walking alone?"

"I had a date," Elena says. She looks straight ahead and quietly enjoys the way he regards her with a curious and amused brow. Of course, he can feel her amusement. This empathy bond makes the small slivers of fun she allows herself to have in his presence not fun.

"How was it?" he asks, his voice slightly strained.

Elena smiles at that. She licks her lips and considers telling him a lie. It had been fantastic, the best date she’s ever had in her short life. It had swept her off her feet and made her believe in love again.

Instead, she slouches her shoulders and lets her hands hang in the skirt of her skater dress. It’s black, allowing her to slip into the colour palette of night, but it doesn’t allow her to become one with it. Looking at him, she purses her lips and smiles sheepishly. "It was terrible."

"Really?" He’s surprised. Klaus looks entirely too amused by that. His hands are clasped behind his back. "And so that prompted you to walk alone back to the dormitory in the dark? Did you know monsters lurk in the shadows?"

"I’m walking beside the biggest one," she drawls, regarding him with a pointed look and an arch of her brow.

"Touché," he chuckles quietly, smiling. Bowing his head, he clears his throat gently. It’s strange to hear such a nervous sound come from him. "Why was it horrible?"

Elena shrugs. Reluctantly, she eyes him before looking straight ahead. It had been horrible for so many reasons: a lack of chemistry, her feeling bored, her realising a normal boy was far from her actual interests. She had been making a list of all the chores she needed to do around the dorm and at her childhood home over the weekend instead of listening to her date drawl on and on.

She keeps her footsteps slow; she’s in no rush to get back to campus. "He was…" Kind? Sweet? Boring? She sighs quietly and opts for the truth. "He wasn’t genuine."

"Ah."

She rolls her eyes. "He just wanted to get laid."

Klaus remains quiet. Her cheeks feel hot. She reaches a hand up to press her cool fingertips against her burning skin, uncaring that he’ll see her. The night’s warm enough that she can make up some very poor lie about wanting to cool her cheeks down.

"What?" She regards him with a cock of her brow. She hates feeling embarrassed in front of him. "No quip?"

"What quip?" He glances at her with a furrow to his brows. "While I can understand his desire," he smirks, giving her a once-over that has her flushing and huffing hotly, "he’s not a gentleman."

She smiles, chuckling. There’s a playfulness to him that she wants to get swept up in. Cocking her brow, she asks incredulously, "And you are?"

He shrugs, curving his lips upward. She likes the playful expression on his face; it makes him look young, unburdened. "Perhaps."

"Oh, okay," she laughs. "What would you have done?"

"Did he bring you flowers?"

She shakes her head. "No."

"That, then," he says. Licking his lips, he furrows his brows as he regards the sidewalk curiously. "Did he open doors for you?"

"No."

"Rise from his seat when you did?"

"No."

"Rest his hand on the small of your back?"

"Okay, I get it. You’re super romantic," she says dryly.

Seemingly satisfied with her impatience, he chuckles and remains quiet for a moment. Ducking his head, he keeps his hands clasped behind him as he walks quietly beside her. And when he speaks again, she almost startles. "Where did you go?"

She licks her lips. "To a bar."

"One with dancing?" At her nod, he stops. She’s a few steps ahead of him before she turns around and cocks her brow at him. He holds out his hand, his other arm tucked behind his back.

She regards him bewilderedly. "What?"

"Will you dance with me?"

Looking at his open palm, she notes how it looks human. His lifelines remain intact on his skin, running deep and strong. Blood had stained it once before. She wonders how long it had taken him to scrub himself clean of her and Jenna.

But she also wonders about how soft they are, if they feel more gentle than they’d been when he had held her to him in the woods. She swallows thickly and knows he can feel her trepidation, her reluctance to even touch him.

Lifting her gaze to his, she studies his face, his open expression, the amused cock of his brow. If he’s offended by her lack of reaction, he doesn’t show it. His lips remain curved upward without any tension.

She gingerly places her hand in his. She’s surprised when his hand encloses around hers, she doesn’t break. His fingers are warm and he holds her hand gently.

He tugs her towards him and encourages her to twirl into his chest. Elena peers up at him incredulously and does her best to arrange herself so she’s comfortable being so close to him. He takes a small step away from her, letting distance sever where they touch. His other hand rests against the small of her back as he gently leads her along the sidewalk to no music at all.

It’s ballroom dancing, the type that she’s only dreamed of ever doing. She lets him lead, staring up at him before she looks down and licks her lips.

"Don’t look down," he says quietly. "Don’t look at your feet."

"That’s easy for you to say. I don’t know where to put my feet."

He tsks gently. "Elena," he says softly, his voice sounding thick with warmth. "You don’t need to know where you put your feet. You simply move. Trust yourself and your partner."

She purposefully keeps her gaze down, wanting to school her features. She doesn’t want her thoughts to be smeared across her features. But I don’t know how to trust you.

Reluctantly, she peers up at him and notes the different greens in his eyes, the way his brows are thick and his skin’s slightly flushed. Despite their past together, she’s never been this close to him. She’s missed these details, the shades of green and brown that make him Klaus Mikaelson.

Klaus gently spins her out, tugging her back towards him. She lets him lead her in a dance that makes her feel like she’s flying. She stops looking down at her feet, stops thinking about where they are, and instead focuses on the smooth sounds of her heels against the pavement. Elena laughs when he dips her, and she flushes at the way his smile is toothy and glows like the full moon.

"See?" he murmurs. "You’re no longer thinking."

He pulls her up, and he reluctantly steps away from her. With a small bow, Elena meets it with a shallow curtsey. She doesn’t take her eyes off of him—she doesn’t think she can. He’s ethereal, beautiful in a way she’s never seen before. This Klaus remains hidden away, locked in a box like her secrets in the pages of her diary. She doesn’t wish for him to disappear even though she can see the lid of the box closing and the ghost returning to his hiding spot.

Klaus folds his hands behind his back and continues walking beside her. She glances at him and notices a small smile playing across his lips.

Elena feels elated, her heart pounding loudly. Adrenaline rushes through her, and all she wants to do is reach out and grab him. Keeping her hands clasped in front of her, she smiles and walks quietly beside him back to campus.

He pulls up beside her effortlessly as she jogs around campus. It’s early in the morning, the sun’s barely stretched itself awake, and her skin is flushed and damp with sweat. Hair sticks to the nape of her neck like a rope.

She tugs her earphones out from her ears and lets them dangle against her collarbones. She doesn’t slow, knowing he can keep up. He jogs alongside her quietly for the last several minutes it takes for her to complete her route, and once she’s stopped, she collapses onto the grass. He remains standing in front of her, hands on his hips before he comes to sit beside her.

Elena remains on her back as she peers up at the white fluffy stretch of clouds. Wiping the back of her hand against her forehead, she pants and licks her lips.

"You’re hard to keep up with," he says, peering down at her.

She laughs, shaking her head. "Bullshit."

He gasps, feigning offence. "I would never lie about that, Elena."

She smiles and closes her eyes for a long moment, trying to calm her breathing. Her throat feels tight and her skin is aflame. Throwing her arm over her eyes, she squints and watches him as he peers out at the campus as it slowly begins to awaken.

Licking her front teeth, she looks at his back, keeping her eyes slightly open so she can feign them being closed if she needs to. "I miss Jenna," she says quietly, feeling a lump form in her throat. He stills, though he does a good job pretending he’s continuing to survey the early risers milling about the campus pathways. "I’d do anything to have her back."

Slowly, he turns to look at her from over his shoulder. If he knows she’s watching him, he doesn’t behave as such. His gaze is soft, his lips slightly pursed. She desperately wants to know what he’s thinking.

He eyes her curiously.

"It wasn’t in my plan for her to die," he says quietly.

"But it was for Caroline and Tyler."

He shrugs. Anger bubbles in her gut, dangerously quick to heat.

Klaus looks down and licks his lips, shrugging again. This time, the movement of his shoulders is pathetically small. "My mother did the spell," he says quietly, his brows knitted together, "and there was no other way."

"You could’ve just stayed as you were," she says, tugging her arm away from her face. She glares hotly at his back.

Planting a hand behind his back, he twists to face her. His brows furrow as he scrutinises her. "Would you have been able to accept yourself as a half?"

Elena doesn’t look away despite wanting to. She continues to glare at him, though her laboured breathing comes from her morning run. She wants to be angry and can feel it beginning to brew as a vicious storm, but it lacks the venom she’s so used to striking him with.

"You wouldn’t have," he says, shaking his head. "It’s why you didn’t leave Stefan. It’s why you remain near Mystic Falls. You became whole the moment you understood your place in the world."

"As a doppelgänger?" she spits the word. She furrows her brows rightly. "That’s not who I am."

He shakes his head. "No, it’s not. But you’re the daughter of Isobel Flemming who gave herself over to vampirism."

She licks her front teeth angrily and leans on her elbows. "I’m more than just vampire bait."

"I didn’t say you weren’t," he says, furrowing his brows. "But you felt whole once you knew who you were, who your mother was. Who your father was. The role you were born to play—"

"I’m more—"

"Than that, yes," he nods impatiently. "I’m aware," he says, keeping his tone even. "But if you believed yourself to be better than the doppelgänger, why did you play the part so perfectly?"

Elena’s brows furrow tightly together as she glares at him. Her lips press firmly together. She knows she looks and feels petulant. Her anger is childish, misplaced. It burns her from the inside out.

"If I’m not mistaken," Klaus continues, his tone remaining too conversational for her liking, "your willingness to sacrifice yourself sent two other people to their deaths, just as the curse required."

"No—" she shakes her head.

"It took a doppelgänger, vampire, and werewolf to break my curse," he says. "You could have stopped it."

"No—"

"I don’t like feeling like this!" he says angrily. His tone’s tightly controlled, but she can feel it pinprick. Elena pushes up, her hands gripping the grass blades tightly as she frowns. His face pinches in red hot anger. "I don’t like feeling this way! I don’t like feeling guilty for taking what was mine!"

Elena swallows thickly and licks at her lips.

"She took from me my identity!" He almost growls like a wolf. His eyes shine. His face contorts with repressed anger. But Klaus doesn’t transform into the monstrous role she wants him to keep playing. He appears like a broken, betrayed boy. "I had every right to claim it back!"

"You killed people to get it back," she says quietly.

"You act as if you and I are different," he says angrily. His throat hollows out in anger as he glares at her from over his shoulder. Tears prick his eyes. "But you and I are the same, Elena. Why else would you have kept me around?"

Elena shakes her head. "I—"

"To torture me," he says. "To punish me for what I have done to you. You think you’re better than me, but that is exactly what I have done to everyone I care about."

She curls her lip up and digs her fingers into the dirt. "You and I are not the same," she says, voice tense.

"We are," he says quietly and it sounds like he’s given up on fighting. When he looks at her, his expression is broken, less composed than she’s ever seen him. "We hurt the people we care about, and then we punish them by pushing them away."

"I don’t care about you," she says, shaking her head.

"No, you don’t," he says easily. "But where are Bonnie and Caroline? Jeremy? Stefan?"

"Safe."

"From?"

Elena curls her nails into the dirt, looking for a root to anchor herself. But even the earth that had held her as she died doesn’t reach out to comfort her. Her eyes prick with angry tears as her throat tightens. "Me."

Klaus nods, turning away from her. He wraps an arm around a knee and picks grass with his other hand. "You and I are not all that different, Elena."

She watches his back, her eyes slightly wide. She does her best to keep the tears at bay, to have them dry up from the warming morning weather, but they still fall. She’s grateful he doesn’t spare her a glance. Elena doesn’t wipe her tears away. She remains seated, pulling her knees to her chest and wrapping her arms around them. Resting her chin against her knees, she watches Klaus as he tugs on grass blades and begins to weave them into a small circle. She imagines it’s a crown.

She doesn’t leave. She supposes that they’re alike that way, choosing masochism over the freedom of no longer being uncomfortably seen.

When Klaus doesn’t wait for her outside of her class the next day, Elena feels strangely rejected. She carries her class books to the bookstore and works her shift alone, slowly rearranging books on the shelves and returning them to their rightful places.

"People are so lazy," she says quietly, hoping for the accompanying remark of how people have become unkind to the stories that once helped them sleep and escape. She’s disappointed he’s not waiting for her in the aisles or outside of her work.

Elena doesn’t find him waiting on the steps of her dormitory waiting for her. She may share her face with another, but no one’s seen her as clearly as him and hasn’t judged her cruelly for playing the role of delicate damsel to perfection. She misses being seen beneath her hastily crafted mask.

Even though she suspects it’s useless, she leaves dog treats on the side of the porch step, hoping it’s enough of an olive branch.

When she wakes the next morning, the biscuits are gone.

Cutting the engine, Elena sits in her car in the cemetery parking lot. Sitting in the silence, she inhales deeply and closes her eyes, thinking and feeling nothing at all. She tries to visit the cemetery every weekend to ensure that the graves of her parents and aunt are well-kept. She does it primarily for Jeremy. He can’t face the dark grey gravestones or the engraved lettering announcing where Miranda Gilbert now lives. One day, she hopes he’ll accompany her to their parents’ new home.

Willing herself out of the car, she gently holds the flower stems in her hand. At least Jeremy had helped her cut those. After he’d visited her on Friday night for an impromptu brother and sister hangout, he’d brought flowers he’d been trying to grow and had quietly left them in a small vase for her to bring to Jenna, Isobel and Mom.

The graveyard is peaceful. She walks slowly, reading the familiar names engraved on tombstones and plaques. She nods at a family she only knows by the name of their deceased loved one. The old woman sits on her heels as she holds a small book in her hand and quietly reads to a gravestone that belongs to her daughter. Sometimes, Elena leaves a flower for her. She can see the small teddy bear she had bought for her birthday rest happily against the mother’s knee.

Although the path to Jenna is an easy one—just go straight—Elena takes a left and walks through the brightly coloured gardens. The flowers burst with life. Plaques shine near their roots. She brushes leaves from the nameplate of an older gentleman who died forty years before her birth and continues on her quiet way to Jenna.

When it’s near impossible to think of another excuse to avoid her aunt, Elena follows the familiar dirt path to her. The trees are thicker and scatter leaves on the ground. She kicks a twig out of her way. Some of the graves look sadly bare; she makes a note to try and buy a thick bouquet of bright flowers so she can dress each one up with a stem or two.

She nods to the gravestones of Edward and Lisa who sit side by side and rest a few spots away from Jenna. Edward is a great storyteller; his family leaves newspapers for him to read, and Elena sometimes unfurls the paper and reads the most interesting articles aloud to him when his family isn’t there to do so. Lisa’s a great listener; butterflies, ants and caterpillars favour her resting spot, climbing and sunbaking along her gravestone. She doesn’t pause to speak to them. She needs to keep moving forward. She can see them on her way out after she sees Jenna.

Elena’s eyes widen at the sight before her. Jenna’s not alone.

The dirt’s disturbed, the wilting flowers she’d delicately leaned against the headstone last week are piled haphazardly on top of one another. The dirtied teddy bear Elena knew her aunt would hate is a little discoloured and resting with its face in the dirt.

A shovel punches into the earth. Her heart seizes in her chest as she grips the prickly thin stalks of her fresh flowers tightly. One of the thorns pierces her thumb; Elena doesn’t flinch.

"What are you doing!?" she yells.

It doesn’t stop him. The sharpness to her voice, the guttural growl. He doesn’t look up, the shovel stabbing the dirt. He’s made a small dip in it, but he’s barely even begun. With his strength, she can see the dry earth crack beneath the blade. If he pushes any further, she’s afraid of how deep he’ll truly go.

"Bringing her back," Klaus says, not looking at her. The shovel thumps the dirt. It stabs, stabs, stabs.

Her feet remain rooted to the spot. Adrenaline rushes violently through her. It burns her veins like venom. She doesn’t move. She doesn’t think about how she’s incapable. Frozen to the spot, she stares at him and flinches as the blade cuts through the dry dirt.

Elena cards her hands through her hair viciously, almost tearing the strands right from her scalp. "Stop!"

The shovel keeps stabbing the earth. It sounds like a blade hitting bone. It continues to slice, doing its best to cut through to the marrow. Her heart pounds heavily in her chest. Her throat begins to close. Her skin bursts into flame.

She drops her flowers. Elena tackles him.

She’s nothing compared to his weight and strength, but she surprises him and he loses his grip on the wooden handle of the shovel. It topples over as he merely sways, shifting his feet, gaining ground. He’s firm against the dirt that buries her aunt. She grips his biceps hard, trying to tug him back and away from this sacred space. She’s openly sobbing as she rips at him, trying to wrestle him away from the gravesite he’s begun to destroy.

She loses her balance and falls back. Klaus is temporarily on top of her before he’s on his feet in a flash. Elena sits up and curls in on herself, crying into her knees.

He’s breathing hard. When she peers up at him, his eyes are wide, lips parted. His face is stricken like she’s slipped the White Oak dagger through his ribs. She wishes she had it. Blindly and without thinking, she stretches out her hand beside her to search for something sharp. A twig, a stone, anything.

His eyes remain wide, face struck white. His voice cracks, "Elena…"

Struggling to push up to her feet, she’s unbalanced and stumbles. Despite her loose footsteps and her blurry vision, she launches herself at him and shoves him hard. He shifts on his feet but never falls. He never fucking falls. "Stop! You can’t fix this."

His eyes shine. Elena doesn’t care. Wiping the back of her hand furiously beneath her nose, she grits her teeth hard enough to smash them all. She shoves him again.

"Just stop!" She hits him again. "Leave me alone."

Dropping to her knees, she crawls towards Jenna’s grave and begins to push the dirt back in place. Her hands work haphazardly, desperate to put the dirt back where it had been. Grass blades pepper the mounds of dirt. She tries to make them stand in the upset dirt, but they fall, spineless, unable to support themselves.

Klaus doesn’t leave. His shadow casts suffocatingly over her. He remains where he is, stunned stupidly in place. She ignores him as she wipes the back of her hand against her nose and struggles to push the dirt back over the small dip in the earth.

He lowers to his knees beside her. When his hands sweep at the dirt, it’s to collect her wrists. She snatches her hands from him and tries to pull the grass blades back in place, to make the ground undisturbed. Jenna deserves that. She deserves a pretty grave, the greenest of grass. She deserves the bear she’d hate pressed against her tombstone.

He grabs her wrists tightly. Elena tries to yank them from his hands, but he holds them to his chest as she struggles. She pulls a muscle beneath her arm. Elena scrunches up her face, crying openly, the sounds tearing from her throat sounding like they belong to an animal being split in half.

Klaus holds her hands tightly to his chest and watches her with a pinched expression. She hates that he can feel it, the way that he’s torn her up from the inside. He’s split her wide open, removed her heart and a fraction of her lungs. It’s difficult to breathe without her. It’s difficult to move knowing she’s truly alone without Jenna or John.

She stops trying to fight him and bows her head against his chest, openly sobbing. She grips his hands tightly; he lets her intertwine their hands.

"I’m sorry," he says quietly. She finches at how genuine he sounds. And he says it again, uttering his apologies. Elena continues to cry even though she can’t breathe and the sobs that tear from her make her throat feel raw. "I just wanted to fill the hole."

When her wet sobs grow dry, she swallows hard and thickly. Her hands remain in his as she slouches against his chest. He still grips her tightly as if he’s afraid she’ll dig up the grave and throw herself in. Elena can see through her tears that she’s carved his wrists and the back of his hands up into a bloodied mess. But where there should be split skin like cracks in disturbed dirt, his skin repairs itself into flawlessness.

"I’m sorry," he says quietly. He sounds surprised, his voice emotionally fraught. "I did what the werewolves did to me."

She licks at her lips. Her words have deserted her, but she thinks of the irony of how a pack of wolves destroyed his heart and all it took was one to rip hers from her chest. She pants heavily, her chest hot. She keeps her gaze on his thighs, unable to see anything but the red of her anger and of Jenna’s own blood.

A dry bubble of laughter escapes her. It’s soft as she laughs mirthlessly. She has nothing left to give, no more tears, no more screams. All she has is the unused laughter that’s been curdling in her chest.

If he feels strange at the sound, he doesn’t say a word. Elena hardly cares. She laughs until she’s incapable of making any sound.

Licking her dry lips, she pulls away from him and ignores the tangle of her hair. With her face red and splotchy, she wipes the back of her hand beneath her nose. Without thinking, she reaches their intertwined hands towards Jenna’s grave.

She lets go of his hand as she reaches for the bear. Brushing its nose until its clean, she holds it to her chest and bows her head, kissing the top of its head. Squeezing it tight, she closes her eyes and wishes for it to somehow reach out and hold her. She places the bear back against the gravestone and brushes her fingers against the engraving. "I don’t want her to be alone," she murmurs.

He nods, watching her intently. He remains uncomfortably still.

She pushes up to her feet. He rises with her, a hand against the small of her back to help steady her. She flinches when his hand doesn’t pull away. Her feet still feel like they’re made of water. He picks up the shovel and she takes it from him, gripping it so tightly her knuckles grow as white as the full moon.

Toeing some dirt back into place, he stands with her as she peers down at Jenna’s grave and quietly wills her aunt to come back to her. She allows herself to sink into her grief as she drowns on dry land. Not once do her legs grow weak. Elena closes her eyes and cries quietly, her breathing gradually slowing.

When she’s ready to leave, he escorts her out of the graveyard quietly, a hand against the small of her back. It frightens her how the mere touch of his bloodied hand grounds her.

Elena doesn’t utter a word to him for a handful of days. He’s obediently waited for her outside of her class, quietly joined her at her work and helped her locate books back in their rightful places on the shelves, and joined her for her morning and evening runs. But she hasn’t spoken to him, and he hasn’t tried to speak to her.

"I don’t want you going there ever again," she says quietly. Her voice is frighteningly even, pulled as taut as a piece of string. She doesn’t look at him.

She sits on the bench and feels her anger tighten her throat and set her shoulders straight. When Elena watches two boys kick a ball to one another along the great expanse of grass, she sees nothing. She barely notices the blue of one’s socks or the warm laughter of the other.

Klaus nods, bowing his head. His hands remain pressed between his thighs. Glancing at him from the corner of her eye, she feels powerful at seeing him cower. He must feel it, her anger, the way she wishes she could tear the world apart. It must be familiar; she thinks that’s the feeling that’s plagued him for centuries.

She opens her mouth and thinks to tell him to leave her be. When she inhales, she can feel the words begin to form on her tongue. She knows if she was to tell him now, he’d respect her request. He’d allow her to huff and puff and blow him away.

Elena licks her lips and curls her fingers into the dark denim of her jeans. She inhales a little quietly, her shoulders relaxing. She doesn’t look at him. Even though she wants to see his expression crack and falter when she requests he leave her alone, she looks straight ahead and sees a campus that’s filled with strangers.

He’s the only person who sees her for the selfish woman she is.

"Does Henrik have a grave?"

He’s quick to turn to face her. Klaus regards her with a confused furrow to his brows. She’s slow to turn to face him, her expression feeling tight and emotionless. She cocks her brow to prompt him.

He nods. "He does."

"Where is it?"

"The woods," he says, the furrow to his brows remaining in place. She suspects he’s trying to use their bond to understand her reasoning, but Elena’s grateful that her emotions won’t give away where her head is wandering. She barely understands what she’s asking, either. "A few miles away from the lake. We buried his ashes by his favourite tree. It blossoms white flowers."

Elena nods and looks down. "I’m not going to dig it up," she says to her knees. Although it’s tempting to do so, to pay back the pain that he’s dealt her, Elena doesn’t feel vengeful. A little boy who has been lost to time doesn’t deserve to be disturbed by her.

"Thank you," he says quietly. He looks down before he’s watching her again. "We’re even."

Hardly. But Elena allows it. For the first time, she’s on even footing with him.

She nods. "We are."

"You know where someone I care about is," he says quietly, watching her carefully "and you can take that away from me."

She inhales deeply through her nose. She could set fire to the tree. If Bonnie was here, she’s certain her friend would be happy to inflict a particular nightmarish spell upon Klaus. She knows that she could easily tell one of Klaus’ enemies where his heart is buried. But all Elena wants to do is protect it.

She nods again. "And you know that I won’t." Elena looks at him and allows her delicately taut mask to drop. She licks at the front of her teeth and glances down at his thighs. "I don’t want to hurt you."

It feels strange to admit that. All she’s ever wanted is to hurt him, to take him apart piece by piece until he’s a bleeding mess. But she feels free at the admission. She’s never wanted to hurt him. She’s only wanted to understand how a boy can be such a monster.

Elena twirls in her dress as she slips out of the bar with him hot on her heels.

"All right, all right," Klaus laughs throatily, "you are the best twirler out of the two of us. And no—I won’t twirl. I’ll concede happily and without complaint."

He presses his hand to the small of her back as she stumbles along the path leading back to campus. She laughs a little too loudly and shushes him with her fingers pressed to her lips. Elena feels lighter than she has in a long time, stumbling along the sidewalk outside of the bar. She hardly minds the fact that Klaus is the one hearing her laughter bubble over her drunken words as she retells her victory in an arm wrestle he had disappointingly missed out on.

"You just had to be there," she declares, tilting her chin upward haughtily. He smiles brighter than the full moon overhead. "I showed them how to twirl so well." He doesn’t tug his hand away from the small of her back as he concedes to her made-up story holding nothing but the truth.

Elena thinks she does a damn good job in walking in the wobbliest straight line. She remains a little too close to him until she’s stumbling. As they walk back to campus and take a familiar route she can walk drunk, she makes small talk while he merely nods and laughs and pretends that he believes every single word she says.

"This is my place," she tells him proudly, sweeping her hand towards the dormitory building. It looks a little spooky in the dark, the street lamps glowing like bored fireflies.

Klaus keeps his hand pressed firmly to her back as she conquers the few steps leading to the porch. "Watch your step," he says.

"Bit late," she chuckles. Her face flushes red as she skips quickly and opens the door, swinging it wide and gesturing with a flourish of her arm for him to slip inside. He bows, she giggles and flushes red, her skin burning so hotly she thinks she’s overshadowed the moon.

She walks almost plastered to his side through the corridors. Elena had wanted to prove to him she could hold her liquor after two beers, but she’d underestimated her ability to not laugh at any little thing he said, at the way his accent curled deliciously around letters that she wanted him to say over and over. She’d forgotten how competitive she could be without a life and death situation hanging over her head. Sitting at the booth in the bar had made her bold; she’d reached out towards him, had almost sat on his lap and demanded that he say words that sounded beautiful on his tongue.

Elena suspects she’ll feel some shame in the morning, but that’s a problem for her tomorrow. Right now, she focuses on putting one foot in front of the other and proving to him that she can walk in a straight line.

"I’m barely satisfied," he says, his voice thick with amusement.

"Fine!" Pulling her shoulders back, she spins on the spot and almost stumbles into the wall. Laughing too loudly, she begins to walk backwards slowly. He trails behind her, his smile wide, his expression so boyish she feels compelled to reach out and try and map the shape with her hands so she can remember how it felt to make him appear so vulnerable. Perhaps its in her best interests that he’s too far away to be touched.

"All right," he says with a laugh, his voice deep and thick. "You’re proven me wrong."

Elena smiles happily and turns on her foot, strutting to her dorm room. She fishes her keys out of her handbag with clumsy fingers and slots the key into the hole. He remains behind her, always the gentleman or the possessive wolf who wants to ensure Little Red makes it home.

Once she pushes the door open, the mood shifts immediately. She no longer feels like she’s floating. The warmth in her cheeks disappears, replaced with something cold and clammy.

"I’ll be off," he says, turning to leave.

Elena waits on the threshold of the doorway as she waits for him to turn his back, and once she sees the sharp lines of his shoulders, she feels compelled to stop him.

"Wait!" It comes out too loud for her liking. Clearing her throat, she licks her lips and tries to bring her voice down a few notches. "You can stay a little longer. Claire’s not here."

Klaus turns and studies her for a long moment. Elena does her best not to fidget beneath his gaze, but she clasps her hands together and wrings her fingers and thinks about rescinding the invitation before he smiles.

He nods. "I’d like that."

"Cool." Clumsily, she slinks into her dorm room. Turning on the light of the living room, she drops her handbag on the nearest surface and toes off her Converse shoes. Klaus waits in the doorway as she goes through her routine of closing the windows to keep the cool air from chilling the warm dorm.

It’s dangerous to invite him inside. There’s no turning back from this. Once she lets the wolf in, he’s never going to leave—not even when he’s absent from the room. He stands at the threshold, arms held behind his back as he peers in with a curious cock to his brow. He doesn’t wish to impose; it’s a strange idea, thinking Klaus doesn’t wish to be the most suffocating presence in the room.

It’s also not entirely strange. She’s begun to learn that sometimes even he prefers to slink into the quiet shadows.

Elena turns on the spot as she sheds her jacket. "Are you going to just lurk like a creep?"

"I was considering it," he says with a lopsided smile.

"You don’t need an invite in," she says, gesturing to the room in general. "Public building."

He licks his lips and doesn’t tear his gaze from hers. "I enjoy being invited in."

Elena licks at her teeth and considers the power he’s just handed her. She knows what he’s doing. It’s to build trust. It’s to make what he had done at Jenna’s grave settle easily between them. All he wants is that empathy bond to disappear so he can begin to own his emotions without wondering where he ends and she begins.

He waits patiently at the door, watching her curiously as she mulls over what she has to lose if she allows him inside. It’s a big step, an act of trust she’s not sure whether she wants to extend to him.

But she sets her shoulders and stands tall, and looks him dead in the eye. "You can come in as long as you take off your shoes."

He smiles, chuckling low in his throat. He begins to toe his shoes off at the door and leaves his boots by the wall. Quietly closing the door behind him, he steps inside of her small dormitory room and looks around.

"I’m going to get a water. Did you want anything?"

He shakes his head. Elena eyes him for a long moment before she wanders to the kitchenette, opening a high cupboard and grabbing a glass. She does her best not to watch him, but she can’t help herself as she studies him from the corner of her eye. It’s strange how he fits inside such a mundane space. She gathers her refrigerated water and pours loudly, slopping water over the sides of her glass.

Klaus surveys the living room quietly like it’s an art gallery. There’s nothing overly profound to be found. There’s just photographs, books, cardigans neither she nor Claire have bothered to fold and put away. It’s a lived-in boring space Elena wouldn’t trade for anything.

With his hands behind his back, he doesn’t lean out to touch anything like Jenna would. He doesn’t pick anything up like Damon used to. He bows his head, almost presses his nose to frames similarly to Stefan, and keeps walking, surveying the bookshelf that’s mostly hers.

Even when he finally sits, he perches on the very edge of the couch. Clasping his hands in his lap, he peers around the dorm room from his new angle. Elena downs half her glass of water and leaves it on the counter, letting a ring form beneath it. She can’t have anything in her hands distracting her as she moves into the living room.

Rather than sit on the opposite end of the couch, Elena approaches him. Resting her hands against his shoulders, she takes her place on his lap. His hands move to her sides and stay there like they’re anchors. He eyes her with bewilderment.

"Have you never had a girl sit on your lap before?" she asks, cocking her brow in a challenge.

He quirks his lips and leans back against the couch’s cushions. She tries to will her ferociously beating heart to calm itself. She wants to appear unreadable, emotionless, but Elena’s been bleeding her grief since she was sixteen years old and hasn’t learned how to plug it.

"No," Klaus says, smiling as he peers up at her. Elena decides that she likes the way he has to tilt his head to peer up at her. "I’ve had plenty of girls on my lap before."

"Hm."

"What?" he chuckles.

"That’s just… such a great thing to say to the girl who’s in your lap," she says, brushing her hair behind her ears.

He cocks his brow. "And why wouldn’t I say it?"

She shrugs, playing coy. Looking away from him, she blushes as he chuckles. He smiles, showing teeth, and she does her best not to admire the way his dimples press into his cheeks. All she wants to do is dip her fingers into them.

He rests his hands a little more firmly against her hips. It feels purposeful now. Elena startles, causing him to laugh a little louder. She hates how the sound tickles the butterflies in her chest.

"Why are you on my lap, Elena?" he asks, not looking away from her.

Elena keeps her gaze above his head as she wonders what answer she can give him that won’t invite him to laugh. She wishes he could simply know to save her from having to say it, but Elena knows that’s where her power is. Her words have always had power, just like his actions.

Licking her lips, she cards her hands through her loose hair and tries to brush some of the strands behind her ears as she peers down at him. "I just want to feel something."

Elena’s ungentle when she presses her mouth against his.

He opens his mouth beneath hers without any hesitation. His hands pinch at her hips. She presses her hands to his chest, using his collarbones to keep herself from falling and melting into him. It’s tempting to. All she can feel is the warmth of his skint through his shirt and his thick necklace.

His hands slide up her back, tugging the fabric of her dress up. Elena likes him pawing at her, but it’s not enough. It doesn’t allow her to feel what she’s yearning for. She folds her hands behind her and unzips her dress, pulling it up and over her head. Her skin flushes red as his hands map out the landscape of her naked back. His hands are big and warm, his fingertips calloused.

She bites at his lip and slides her hands beneath his shirt. He sucks in his stomach and smiles against her mouth. Before he can pull away to quip, she leans forward and slopes her mouth hard against his to stop him. She’d wanted his voice earlier, but now she wants nothing but his silence. If he speaks, he’ll break the spell—and isn’t that what he’s best at these days?

Pulling his shirt over his head, she’s quick to press her mouth to his. She bites at his lips, kisses the corner of his mouth. She presses her chest to his, feeling warm skin against her own.

His hands palm her ass as he shifts her slightly on his lap. She keeps her head bowed, her hair tangling around them. She thinks he gets it. He has to feel it—the heat in her gut, her pulse pounding loudly. He has to hear it—her heart running wildly, her blood rushing beneath her skin like a wave crashing against rocks. She wants to be nothing but desirable to him, to be something that isn’t water invading lungs.

She tilts her head back as he licks at her neck, her collarbones. She gasps when his mouth warms her breast, his tongue lapping at her nipple. She shivers and drops her hand roughly against his chest, gliding her fingers against his stomach. He sucks in a breath as he sucks on her breast, and she slides her hand to his pants to blindly and clumsily undo his jeans.

Burying his face into her chest, Klaus presses his hands against her spine and he slides them roughly down her back. His fingers the hem of her panties with one hand and palms her ass roughly with the other. His belly’s warm; she fans out her fingers to try and touch all of him that she can. All she wants is to possess him.

When she slides her hand beneath the waistband of his jeans and briefs and wraps a hand around his dick, he slackens beneath her.

"Elena," he pants, peering up at her with pink lips and flushed cheeks. She glares down at him before she lowers her head to try and smash her mouth against his to quiet him. He tilts away. She growls. "Elena," he says firmly.

"Please," she pants, bowing her head again. Biting at his lips, she draws blood when he roughly pulls his head away. Chest sparking with heat, she glares down at him. "What’s wrong?" Her vision blurs with angry tears. Her chest flushes angrily. "Isn’t this what you wanted?"

He furrows his brows and shakes his head. "No," he says breathlessly.

"Bullshit," she spits.

Klaus peers up at her like a lost boy. He doesn’t let his gaze drop. "I know you haven’t forgiven me," he says quietly. It’s tentative like he’s hesitantly trying to make his way across a frozen lake while in his wolf form, his furry pads slipping. "We can’t do this."

She shakes her head incredulously, looking away. Licking her lips angrily, she mutters, "I can’t believe this."

"You would only hate yourself in the morning, Elena."

"You don’t get to make decisions for me," she says, glaring down at him. Elena tugs her hands away from him and wraps her arms around her bare breasts. She doesn’t wish for him to see her so naked, even if it’s too late for that. He’s seen her in her most vulnerable moments, felt her most private feelings. She flushes, her heart skittering when he glances down. "You don’t get to pretend you care about what’s in my best interests."

Klaus looks up at her, tilting his head slightly. "Do you really think this is what you need?"

"Yes!"

He shakes his head. "I won’t be used as a way for you to punish yourself."

She laughs mirthlessly. "As if you’re better than that."

He looks away as if she’s slapped him. Good. He deserves it. Klaus with a soft heart is an insult to the misery he’s caused. While she’s enjoyed his smiles and his laughter, this is the Klaus she prefers—the one who knows he’s never going to get what he wants.

Elena glares at him and clenches her teeth. She tears away from him and stumbles as she stands. Quickly, she begins to gather her clothing. Pressing her dress roughly against her chest, she whips around and points to the door. "Get out."

Klaus peers up at her for a moment too long, his expression cracked wide open. He regards her with wide eyes and crinkled brows. There’s a lack of indignant anger she wishes was there. He obliges, picking up his shirt and tugging it over his head. She huffs and puffs and the werewolf finally leaves her be, closing the door gently behind him.

Elena hates that she’s as bare as she had been when he left her on the floor of the woods a year and a half ago.

For the next week, Elena refuses to acknowledge that she misses him. When she leaves her classes, she doesn’t acknowledge her disappointment at not seeing him leaning against his usual pillar. She ignores how she expects him at every turn at the bookstore. He’s not there to hand her books or take them from her small pile and place them back on the shelf where they belong.

Elena sits on the bench and ignores the space beside her. She should feel elated. She tells herself she must be. He’s finally gone. She’s finally gotten what she’s wanted after spending so long begging for it.

But when she looks to where he would sit beside her and finds the space empty save for her handbag, she slouches and reprimands herself for thinking about him. When had Klaus buried himself so deeply beneath her skin?

When her plans with Caroline and Claire fall through on the weekend, Elena takes her car and drives aimlessly. Her destination niggles in the back of her mind quietly. She knows where she’s going, even when she purposefully takes a left instead of a right.

No matter how desperately she tries to keep herself away from her destination, she parks her car at the edge of the woods and quietly slips out from her seat. Leaving her handbag in the passenger seat, she tucks a novel beneath her arm and does her best not to squash the small bouquet of wildflowers in her hands.

It’s hard to find the tree he had described. A few bushes burst with blooming white flowers. Some trees seem bare of them, the flowers having been either plucked by hungry birds or adventurous in their attempts to escape their imprisonment hanging high within the canopy.

There’s no marker against any of the trees. Elena’s unsure if Klaus’ family is the type to be as sentimental as hers. Would they mark his grave? Would they place a strange-looking boulder in front of the tree so they would never lose him? Even if Klaus lost everything—his sense of direction, smell, sight—she knows that he would never forget the several various pathways to his little brother.

She finds the tree through the most obvious marker.

With his back turned to her, she quietly stops several steps behind him. If he was a mortal man capable of normal feats, she could easily hide behind a tree or squat behind a thick bush and watch him quietly. But she’s worn her sharpest perfume and she’s cracked twigs and dry leaves beneath her Converse shoes—and she knows he can feel her emotions bleed along the ground like the blood he’s spilled dozens of times over. Klaus doesn’t react to her; she doesn’t know why she dislikes that so much.

Klaus reluctantly looks over his shoulder at her. His expression is tense, difficult to read even for someone as astute as her. She doesn’t like how closed off he seems. He turns to face her, his brows furrowing tightly. "You brought my brother flowers," he says incredulously.

Elena looks down at the small bunch of wildflowers in her hands. She’d tugged as much of the roots as she could from the stems to make them appear clean, but it still looks messy. She flushes with sheepish heat.

"Is that a book?" He nods towards her arm.

"It was one of my favourite books to read when I was a kid," she says, her heart pounding a little too loudly in her chest. It’s the very book Klaus had coincidentally kept picking from the shelf, turning it over, flipping the pages open and reading it aloud in various silly voices and accents. "I thought maybe I would read it to him."

Klaus nods, looking down. He licks his front teeth. "He’d like that."

Approaching him quietly, she kneels by the base of the tree and plucks fallen and dry leaves away from where its roots lay on the ground. Klaus is a messy creature by nature; she knows she’s a lot cleaner, desperate to seek control in the ways he struggles to keep his claim to it.

"I’m not sorry for what happened," he says from behind her. He continues to stand; she doesn’t need a reciprocated empathy bond to know that he’s looking at her, slightly indignant, possibly in embarrassment. She’s caught him unaware three times now.

She continues to brush and pick leaves away from the base of the tree, wanting to clean up Henrik’s grave. It’s the largest grave she’s come across, the base of the tree thick and wide. She wants to imagine that the woods have grown bright and thick, lively and a home for its animals and plants because of him. Beneath the gentle hand of the most beloved Mikaelson, the woods have flourished.

Placing the wildflowers gently against the base of the tree, she holds her book in her hand and stares at the bark peeling away from the uproots. Inhaling deeply, she closes her eyes and releases it, the tension only shifting to sit more heavily against her shoulders. "I’m not, either."

She opens her eyes and looks at the tree. Her heart rattles in her chest. She swallows too thickly—she thinks it could wake the oldest of the dead—and summons all the courage she lacks to look over her shoulder and up at him. He’s studying her; she can’t read his expression.

"I want to be sorry," she says, dropping her gaze only briefly at the strange look he wears, "but I’m… not."

"How difficult is that for you to confess?"

She rolls her eyes. Smiling, she shakes her head. "Very," she says, peering up at him. "You’re an ass for asking that question."

He shrugs. "I have a reputation to upkeep," he says weakly.

Elena licks her front teeth and turns back to the tree. Leaves and twigs crackle and snap beneath his feet. He comes to squat beside her, his knee almost brushing against hers. Sweeping some of the leaves away—and crumpling a few in his hands—he looks down at the roots clambering out from the earth.

"I’m glad you came here," he says quietly.

"Why?" Elena asks, turning to face him. He keeps his gaze down. She doesn’t need an empathy bond to know he’s feeling exposed. This is his greatest wound, the soft, easily sliceable skin of his heel. It’d be so easy to rip out his heart now.

"I knew I could trust you," he says, furrowing his brows tightly. It looks as though it surprises him to even say such words. It feels strange to hear them. He glances at her before looking away uncertainly. "He was… very important to me."

"Is," she gently corrects, reaching out to brush her hand against his knee. He regards her hand strangely like it’s something he’s never seen before. "He is still important to you," she continues quietly, "and it’s okay to keep speaking about him like that."

He presses his lips together tightly. Hollowing out his throat tightly, he nods. She gives him a small smile when she sees his eyes shine with unshed tears. "He is very important to me," he says quietly. "I don’t think he’d like who I’ve become."

She keeps her hand on his knee. Shrugging, she offers as kindly as she can, "Maybe not. But you can be better." Despite the pain he’s inflicted upon her, Elena finds she believes it. "You just have to choose that."

Klaus inhales quietly through his nose. He looks down at the ground and begins to pluck more dry and torn leaves from where Henrik may lay. The base of the tree becomes clean beneath his care. Elena doesn’t remove her hand from his knee until Klaus shuffles onto his and crawls around the base of the tree. She helps him clean it, even though there’s really no use—the leaves will fall and land as they wish, and the ground will become covered again.

But, for now, that doesn’t matter. What matters is that an older brother is taking care of his little brother, and Elena likes being witness to the kinder, nurturing side to this man.

When Klaus is satisfied with his handiwork, he sits on his heels. Elena crosses her legs and sits with her book in her lap, peering up at the tree and the thick foliage protecting Henrik. From the corner of her eye, she can see him watching her. She keeps her gaze purposefully tilted upwards and poorly tries to pretend that she hasn’t noticed he’s watching her.

After a quiet moment of stillness, he asks, "Would you like to meet him?"

Elena stares at him. His expression is meek; he’s smaller than she’s ever seen him be. He’s removed his monstrous skin, declawed his sharp hands.

She smiles. "Yes."

Placing his hand furthest from her against the ground, he holds out his other hand, palm facing up. When she looks down at his hand, she can see that there will always be blood marring his skin, but it’s dried, lighter and scrubbed as clean as it possibly can be. But it’s no different to how her hands look.

She places her hand in his.

"Close your eyes," he murmurs.

Closing her eyes, she sees the woods as clear as day within her mind. It slowly grows brighter. She feels relaxed in a way she only ever is in her dreams.

Shoulders relaxing, she smiles when she hears laughter. The canopy is thinner here. There are wildflowers bursting from the woods’ floor. Fewer trees crowd the heart of the woods. A small boy with a mop of dark hair flees through the bushes, tunic snagging on twigs and leaves, and he laughs before he hides behind the thick trunk of a familiar tree.

A lanky young man emerges from the brush. His tunic is dirtied and his face is smeared with mud. He smiles brightly, his presence bursting as brightly as the sun. Elena smiles as she watches Niklaus pretend to hunt Henrik through the woods. He speaks warmly in a language Elena can’t understand.

When Henrik peers out from behind the tree, Niklaus playfully growls and leaps towards him. They disappear into the woods, running and laughing, interrupting the birds that flee to the highest tops of the canopy.

She doesn’t tug her hand from Klaus’, not even when the dream is over.

She rolls her eyes when he presses his chest firmly to her back. Klaus takes his time in slipping the small novella back in its place on a shelf a head above her. Elena presses her lips together and looks at the gap between the books and the top of the next shelf, waiting patiently for him to have his fun and step back.

When he doesn’t, she elbows him in the gut.

He laughs and steps back, rubbing his belly and wincing as if she’s capable of causing him great pain once she turns around to face him. Elena regards him pointedly and steals her next book from the pile she’s placed by her feet. "Serves you right," she murmurs.

"So unkind," he says, laughing warmly. She ignores the butterflies fluttering in her chest at the sound. She’s convinced his laugh is comprised of delicate bells. It reminds her of laying on the grass by the lake pretending it’s a beach with Caroline and Bonnie. She’s stopped hating that sound coming from someone like him.

When she glances at him in embarrassment, he kindly doesn’t tease her. Elena tries to tug her emotions back in, but the moment she inhales a little deeper and stands a little taller, she feels them flood her. They drown her, pinpricking her skin, almost convincing her she can fly. She hates that he can feel it. More and more, Elena wishes to hide from him.

She walks to the other end of the aisle and pretends to search for the thick book’s rightful place on the shelf. She’s already memorised this aisle in a bid to outdo him in slipping discarded and forgotten books back in their places faster than him, but she wants to take a few moments to come back to herself. Thankfully, he stays at the opposite end of the aisle, browsing the books with his hands behind his back.

"You know," she says, returning to him and plucking a book from her diminishing pile on the wooden floor, "my coworkers are a little concerned you don’t know how to read."

He cocks his brow and smiles in warm amusement, keeping his gaze focused on a shelf above his head. He scans the titles while she observes him, taking in the pink tinge to his ears, the delicate slope of his nose. She counts the freckles dotting beneath his ear and down his neck, dipping into the scoop of his sweater.

"Do they?" He doesn’t seem perturbed; his voice sounds like birdsong. "I wonder who gave them that wonderful idea."

She shrugs innocently, letting her hands slap against her thighs. Turning to the shelf opposite him, she stands with her back to him and trusts him not to shove a dagger between her shoulder blades. After a moment of listening to his quiet stillness, she ignores her disappointment when he doesn’t stand behind her once more.

"They’re very observant," she says, standing on the tips of her toes and slipping that book back into place. Gliding her fingers along the spines, she gently taps them back into line.

"Or," he says, making the one simple word sound like it consists of several syllables, "a beautiful bird swayed them with her poisonous and jealous lies."

Elena scrunches up her face in amusement and twists to face him, chuckling incredulously. She cocks her brow and laughs when he peers at her from over his shoulder with an innocent expression. "Poisonous and jealous lies?"

He nods, his hands remaining behind his back. Her gaze glides along the sharp arch of his back as he tilts his head up and turns away, standing a little taller. "Very poisonous."

"Why would this bird be jealous?" She crosses her arms against her chest, feigning offence. The word 'bird' doesn’t sound as delicate coming from her mouth as it does his. When he glances over his shoulder at her with a slight arch to his brow, the sight of her jutting out her hip makes him smile wider. "Why would she need to tell a lie?"

Klaus shrugs, but the way he moves his body and slowly turns to face her reeks of nothing close to innocence. "Perhaps she’s possessive," he muses, pursing his lips. "Perhaps she wishes to keep me all to herself."

She scoffs.

He smiles widely, showing teeth. "Hey, hey," he laughs, finally unwrapping his hands from behind his back, "there’s no need to be nasty."

"You’re delusional," she says, smiling widely. Elena ignores the heat bursting against her cheeks.

"And you have selective hearing," he says, scooping the books up from the floor with enviable grace. Klaus moves like a shark in water, easing her into lowering her guard, appearing more ethereal than he has any right to be. He studies the front cover and nods. "These books don’t belong here."

"No," she says, watching him for a long moment. "They don’t."

He looks at her sideways and smiles. "Perhaps we take them to their homes?"

Elena inhales deeply through her nose and sighs loudly, feigning as much annoyance as she possibly can. If she tries to steal those books from his grip, she won’t have any chance against his reflexes. She’s learnt the hard way just how stubborn he can be in his attempts to help her.

This won’t encourage her gaping wounds to heal. The pang in her gut longing for Jenna’s laugh and commentary about her job still stings. But the way Klaus smiles at her, wide and genuine enough to summon his dimples to the surface of his slightly scruffy cheeks, makes her wonder if she can truly move forward.

Rather than go in the direction he faces, Elena turns on her foot and skips out of the aisle. "Keep up!"

He laughs and easily closes the distance between them with a few long steps. On her heels, he follows her a few aisles over before she slips inside and holds out her hand for a book. Klaus doesn’t offer her it even at the wiggle of her fingers.

When she looks at him, he’s peering down at a book. It’s sleek and black, and she can tell by its worn edges that it’s been tossed around the store, placed in different sections and left forgotten. The book’s nothing to write home about; she hasn’t read the story, but something in its bleak cover has captured him.

"I’m sorry that you’re in pain," he says quietly. "And I can’t take it back."

She inhales deeply and settles herself as best she can. Butterflies flutter in her chest, but she misses the warmth, the childish shyness that the other set had released inside of her upon being freed from their cage. "No," she says quietly, shaking her head. "You can’t."

"I will learn to live with it," he says, looking her in the eye. He licks his tongue along his front teeth and watches her with a determination that unsettles her.

She wants to disbelieve him, wants to tear apart his words and tell him he’s a liar. But he’d been right about his playful description of her; she’d be the liar in this instance. Elena’s stopped believing Klaus is lying, even if he still remains the big wolf with his drying bloodied maw in her tale.

"I will. I have to," he says quietly, his expression one that’s akin to the earth cracking wide open. His eyes narrow slightly in thought. "But will you be able to live with your truth, Elena?"

Her heart leaps into her throat. She furrows her brows in confusion. "What truth?"

"That you enjoy my company," he says soberly. There’s no hint of mirth, no teasing. He stares at her, pinning her in place. Elena fidgets on the spot and wishes she had been quick enough to steal the books from the floor before they had left the safety of the other aisle. Her hands are unfairly bare; she peers at the shelf in front of her and pokes a book in line with the rest of the spines.

If she doesn’t look at him, perhaps he’ll grow insecure. He’ll stop. He’ll hand her the book and she can return to teasing him again. She tilts her head up and stands on the tips of her toes as she pulls a book from the shelf, peers at the front cover, and looks determinedly for its correct spot.

All the while, Klaus watches her.

"You’ve grown to like me."

She bites her bottom lip and shakes her head. She glances at him with a sober expression, her lips failing to even try and curve into a smile. "I haven’t."

"And you want me around," he says. Again, he lacks arrogance. Elena wishes he would smile, tease her, begin to back her into a corner to intimidate her. But he remains standing where he is and allows her to force distance between them. She’d much prefer he stand behind her again and her back burn against the warmth of his chest. He’s utterly controlled while she begins to fall apart. "You enjoy me, just as I enjoy you."

Licking her lips desperately, she shakes her head. "I don’t," she says, forcing her lip to curl upward in an attempt to appear disgusted. Her heart hammers wildly in her chest. Desperation begins to clamber to the surface of the grave she’s been trying to bury herself inside.

Elena looks at him and stands as tall as she can muster, but she feels as though her bones have become feathers and she’s merely a tentative brick house about to crumble in front of the empathetic wolf. She shakes her head and her throat tightens as she does her best to summon the anger, the pure hatred that had spurred her onwards in the beginning. But she can barely lift her arms to swim against the gentle water he’s sunken them both in.

"I hate you." It lacks its venom.

He quirks the corners of his lips. "I like you," he says, undeterred. "I’ve enjoyed your company."

She shakes her head and scrunches up her nose in distaste. "This is just some trick—"

He shakes his head, slotting the books beneath his arm. "No trick," he insists, holding his hands up in surrender. She stares at his palms and hates how she can’t see the brutal claws hidden within those long and delicate fingers. "I’ve enjoyed this, Elena. Getting to know you. But I think it’s time you begin to come to terms with the fact you want to get to know me, too."

She shakes her head again and looks down at the shelf, determined to try and find a place for the book that she begins to hold with shaking hands. She clutches at it tightly, her palms sweating. Brushing her loose hair behind her ear, she grows frustrated with how it falls back into her face. "Please leave."

He remains in place for a moment. She swallows thickly, fear beginning to climb quickly and clumsily up her throat. She expects him to advance now, to rip her throat out as he should. But Klaus peers at her pityingly before he gently places the books within a gap on the shelf and turns on his heel and quietly leaves.

He’s not meant to do that. He’s not meant to leave. Elena’s face crumbles as she presses her hand tightly against her mouth, and tries to bottle the whimpers that break free from somewhere in her chest. She sits heavily against the bookshelf and tugs her knees to her chest and cries into them.

She’s not meant to fall for the wolf. Her story was always meant to end with her slaying him.

Elena picks at her burger, leaving the limbs of the bun against her plate. The bar’s too loud. The alcohol in her glass is too thick for her to enjoy. Even though she does her best to smile and sing along to karaoke from her table, she keeps glancing to the front of the bar, expecting her wolf to slink inside.

"You okay?" Claire asks, watching her from over the lip of her beer bottle. She’s smiling, glowing from her successful bout of karaoke. She’s a little drunk, but not enough to see Elena through an unnatural glow. "You seem gloomier than usual."

Elena shrugs, keeping her gaze downcast. "Just thinking."

"About how much you hate burgers?"

She smiles, shaking her head. "No." Glancing up at Claire, Elena looks down again, her cheeks slightly flushed from the heat of the bar and her own attempts to belt out 1980s pop ballads. "Okay," she sighs heavily. "Maybe. But not about the burgers—you know how much I love these."

Claire chuckles. "Why do you think I’m worried? Usually you’re demolishing that thing. Sometimes I think you use the ballads as a reason to serenade it."

Elena snorts. Inhaling deeply, she sits back against the booth and picks up a napkin to occupy her fingers with. "Have you ever been so afraid of something you sabotage it?"

Claire’s laughter is almost louder than the music from the jukebox. "At least once a month."

"What about with a person?"

Elena watches Claire as she traces the lip of her beer. "All the time," she says. "I think that’s life, you know? Self-preservation’s a thing… and sometimes we don’t realise the person in front of us is good for us."

Elena nods thoughtfully and continues to pick at the napkin, rubbing her fingers into it.

"Is this about Klaus?"

Elena scrunches up her nose and glances away. She tucks her fingers into the napkin. "Kind of," she says, her heart racing in her chest. Her diary has been privy to her innermost thoughts. It feels strange to utter it aloud, to hear herself even admit what she’s kept locked inside of her own head. She hasn’t even told Jenna, afraid her aunt would see it as a betrayal even from beyond the grave. "He hurt me," she says. "He hurt me really badly."

"And you don’t know if you can forgive him," Claire says.

She nods. "I don’t know if I want to, but…" Elena grits her teeth and almost growls. Dropping the napkin, she folds her arms against the table and leans forward. "I think I have, you know? Or at least… I’m starting to."

"Why do you feel bad about it?"

"He hurt a lot of people I care about," Elena says, watching Claire’s expression. Her friend listens with her head tilted to the side. Even when there’s a loud cheer from the dance floor, she doesn’t turn towards them. It feels strangely good to be listened to. "And I don’t know if I can forgive that."

She nods. Tracing her finger along the lip of her bottle, Claire regards her with a gentle cock of her brow. "What do you think is going to happen if you do forgive him?"

Elena licks her front teeth and peers down at the dark wood of the table. It begins to blur. She doesn’t answer for a few beats, listening as an upbeat pop song begins to play loudly. Scrunching up her face, Elena does her best to withhold her tears. "That what he did means nothing."

Claire reaches across the table to brush her fingers against the back of Elena’s wrist. "If you choose to forgive him, you’re not forgetting what he did. Forgiveness doesn’t need to be some clear cut thing. It doesn’t make the fact he hurt you go away. But maybe it’ll make you feel a little freer, you know?"

Elena tugs the hand Claire isn’t touching away from the table and roughly wipes at her tears. She sniffs loudly and peers out at the bar, seeing everyone smiling and laughing and cheering. If it wasn’t for John, she wouldn’t be here. Her father may have parented her too late in life, but she thinks he’s taught her the most valuable lesson she’ll ever learn.

"I don’t know how to allow myself to feel that," she says wetly, peering at Claire. She laughs self-consciously and wipes at her face. "I’m sorry," she says, hiding her face behind her fist as she tries to dry her cheeks. All she manages is to smear her tears across her skin. "That’s so lame."

Claire squeezes her wrist and smiles at her kindly. "Not at all. You go at your own pace. And if you trip, I’ll be here to help you with the scrapes."

Elena smiles and ducks her head. Clumsily, she moves her hand beneath Claire’s touch and intertwines their fingers together tightly.

When she leaves dog treats out by the dormitory steps along with a note for Klaus to meet her for her morning run, she waits until her skin’s aflame, her hair’s sticking to the back of her neck and her forehead, and she’s collapsed on the grass before she invites herself over to his place.

"You have a place, right?" she cocks her brow and peers up at him. He looms over her as a delightful shadow. The tree refuses to shade her this morning. "Or are you staying at a kennel?"

He chuckles and shakes his head incredulously. "You’re going to be such a lovely guest, aren’t you?"

Elena smiles. Although she’s disrupted their routine with the abrupt self-invitation, Klaus appears outside of her only class and carries her books for her. Before he leaves her to study in the campus library, he slips a note with his address neatly written on it inside of one of her books.

For the entire late afternoon, she’s considered faking food sickness and wrapping herself up within the safe cocoon of her sheets. But she’s never been afraid. Elena Gilbert has stared death in the face and invited him to take his fill, and when she had dropped to the ground like a rag doll, she’d risen and stood tall once again.

She doesn’t wish to be afraid. There’s nothing to be afraid of any longer. The monster beneath her bed has long since exorcised himself with humility.

But that doesn’t make this any less scary.

When she appears at the door of his apartment, she doesn’t consider turning around and leaving. She brushes her fingers through her loose hair one more time and tugs at the sides of her dark camisole and denim shorts. She wears mascara and smoky eyeshadow paired with red lipstick. She knows the armour she wears makes her a delectable sight for a predator.

At her incessant knocking, he ushers her inside with a sweep of his arm.

"Nice place," she says, standing on the threshold of his studio apartment. She eyes the dark exposed brick, the wooden pillars bared in the middle of the room. The wooden floors are shiny; she sincerely doubts he gets on his knees and scrubs them clean.

"Make yourself comfortable," he says, back to her. He must feel her trepidation when he waves his hand and turns around to face her. He chuckles, "Come on. I’m not going to bite."

"That’s not what I’m afraid of," she mumbles. He laughs as she toes off her Converse shoes and kicks them against the skirting board by the front door. Closing the door, she tentatively steps inside and looks around, pressing her hands to her upper thighs as she surveys how small he is in the grand space.

His kitchenette is long and plain. The marble countertop of the kitchen island is bare save for a bowl of shiny fruit that looks fake. The light hangs almost low enough to smack him on his forehead. He pours two glasses of refrigerated water before he slides hers along the countertop.

Standing on the opposite side of the island to him, he watches her over the brim of his sweating glass as he drinks. She rests her hands against the countertop, keeping her head bowed.

"No coaster?" she asks, cocking her brow playfully at him.

He swallows loudly and shrugs. "I like to live on the wild side."

She smiles, looking down. Her heart pounds roughly in her chest. Tapping her fingers against the countertop, Elena’s adrenaline surges inside of her like an unwieldy storm. She can pretend she hasn’t willingly stepped inside of the wolf’s den. She can pretend that this is normal, that it means nothing, but she suspects that Klaus is well-aware that she’s exposing her hand.

What she’s exposing is what she’s slowly allowing herself to admit.

She does enjoy him. She does like his company. While he may be a little prickly and very arrogant at times, she likes how he laughs so much his dimples appear and his skin tints pink. She likes how much she laughs, too.

The time she’s spent with him has to mean something. She refuses to lose another person.

"I don’t know how to do this," she says, glancing up at him. He presses a hand to the countertop and holds his glass in his other; he looks down, his brows furrowed and lips pinched. "This whole… thing," she continues, waving her hand loosely between them while feeling her attempt to grasp for words is stupid and useless. "I know I’m supposed to hate you, but…"

"You don’t," he says, peering up at her. There’s something about his expression that seems so innocently boyish.

After a pause, Elena shakes her head. "A part of me always will," she says, eyeing him seriously. "Always. But…" She bows her head and shrugs pathetically. "I feel like I’m doing something wrong, being here."

When she looks up at him, Klaus is watching her. He licks his lips and sighs heavily through his nose. Placing his glass on the countertop, he shakes his head. "I have spent my entire life despising your face."

Elena smiles mirthlessly, a little taken aback. It’s not news to her. Her face has been worn by a woman who had outrun him—and who continues to do so. Sometimes, she thinks Katherine’s a lot smarter than she is. Keeping herself distant, a ghost… Elena doesn’t know how to be anything but the centre of the galaxy.

"But I think I’ve finally understood what my sister meant by learning to let go," he says with a tight furrow to his brow.

Shifting on the spot, she rests her hip against the counter’s edge as she watches him curiously. "What did she say?"

"That letting go will free me," he says derisively, rolling his eyes. She can’t help but smile; Claire’s words are a gentle welcoming echo. "She believes that letting go is the key to living. Rebekah was always one for pretty words and even prettier dreams."

"She has a point," she says kindly. "Letting go means you can move on."

He regards her curiously. "Where would someone like me move on to?"

Elena shrugs. "Somewhere where you’re not defined by the curses you rightfully earn."

He smiles, shaking his head in amusement. Sighing loudly, she watches his tongue dart out to lick at his lips. "When I discovered that my last tether was to you, I understood then that it was karmic punishment. My siblings would come to forgive me no matter what I did to them, but you…"

She wants to look away as he regards her intently with his eyes slightly narrowed. She feels naked in a way that she hasn’t been in some time. He looks at her and sees through her, possibly to the ugly, marred muscle and broken heart she’s been carrying for years now. But she doesn’t wish to. She wants to watch him as openly as he has studied her.

"I knew you would never forgive me," he says quietly. Klaus begins to move slowly, pushing away from the counter. "I personally thought I could exasperate it out of you as I did with Elijah."

She releases an amused sound. "I bet that went well."

"Oh, very," he says, smiling at her in amusement. He walks away from the island and begins to make his way around the counter; she turns to watch him, not wanting to lose sight of him as he begins to unmask himself. "Elijah always forgives me. He has a saviour complex." Klaus comes to stand near her, his hand resting a palm’s distance away from hers. She leans one hand on the countertop and the other on her hip.

"But me?" she asks quietly, cocking her brow as she smiles.

"You are stubborn," he says admiringly. "And self-righteous," he continues, taking a step towards her. Elena doesn’t back away; she doesn’t feel the need to. "And cruel."

She tilts her chin up defiantly, feeling proud. Cruelty isn’t something she wishes to embody. She wants to be gentle, kind, compassionate in the many ways her friends see her as. But the way he says it makes something warm spark inside of her. It makes her sound powerful in ways her human body isn’t.

He stands too close to her. Elena thinks she should move away, but she doesn’t. She stands tall, her chin tilted upward, her fingers still and afraid to move against the countertop and the hip of her shorts.

"But you are full of light," he says, his brows furrowing as he regards her almost incredulously, "even with all your darkness. You don’t let it destroy you."

"I let you," she whispers.

He shakes his head. "You’re one of the only few who hasn’t been destroyed by me," he says. "My family has been in ruins over the centuries because of me. But you, a human girl… You survived me."

She shakes her head and jerkily cards her hand through her hair. She looks down and does her best to ignore the heat of her cheeks and neck. "It’s only because of that spell—"

"People love you, Elena," he says, drawing her incredulous gaze back up to him, "and I find that fascinating. What is it about a wisp of a human girl someone could love so much it would drive them to choose to sacrifice themselves?"

She doesn’t open her mouth or move. She has no answer for him. Elena doesn’t understand why everyone around her puts themselves in the firing line for her with little care for themselves, with little thought to how they’d be leaving her behind and alone.

Klaus’ gaze drops and she parts her lips purposefully, enjoying the way his gaze lingers. "I think I understand it now," he murmurs with a furrow to his brows. "The allure of the doppelgänger has been a myth as much as the Sun and Moon Curse."

Elena watches him, her breathing growing shallow as he studies her like he’s never seen her before. His eyes slowly glide over the planes of a face he knows too intimately, of cheekbones and lips that he must abhor by now for what they represent.

But the way he looks at her is with hunger.

She’s unsure of who moves first, but she knows her standing on the tips of her toes prompts him into action. A hand glides into her hair, fingers curling into the strands. His other hand glides up her spine, pulling her shirt up from the delicate small of her back.

His mouth is warm and hard against hers. Elena presses her body into his, gliding her hands into his hair, tugging on him and pushing him impossibly closer. His hands disappear from her hair and back and curl around the back of her upper thighs as he tugs her up and against him. Looping her legs around his waist, she refuses to pull her mouth from his.

He’s clumsy, walking into the kitchen island. His footfalls are unpracticed for a centuries-old hybrid, but she chuckles against his lips and enjoys the way he’s rendered into a flawed human boy.

"That was embarrassing," she murmurs.

"Shush," he mutters against her mouth, his cheeks bright red.

Walking to his bedroom, he kneels on the bed and continues to hold her to him as if he’s afraid breaking their physical connection will mean she comes to her senses. But Elena knows what it feels like to be drowning, to feel as though she can’t move or untangle herself. But she’s swimming now, breathing hard, tugging at his shirt roughly as she pulls it over his head and drops it somewhere to the side. She glides her hands along the expanse of warm and bare skin and holds her arms up when he mimics her and discards her shirt onto the floor.

She presses her mouth against his, her hands sliding into his hair, along his back. She enjoys touching his shoulders, nipping at his lips. Burying her head into his neck, she feels her bra loosen as his hands brush against her skin before palming her possessively.

Lying back, she tugs her legs away from him. She accidentally knees him in the side, laughing as he helps her undo her shorts and tugs them roughly down her legs. Elena crawls back on her elbows to the head of the bed and watches him as he undoes his own jeans, his gaze locked on hers. She flushes, her skin feeling hot; she wants to look away and hide, but she keeps her gaze on his, only dropping it to watch him peel his pants and dark briefs off his legs.

Klaus bares himself to her, sharp hips and thick thighs strong despite how lanky he is. She breathes heavily and feels her heart thump wildly in her chest as he crawls up to plant his hands on either side of her head.

He bows his head and kisses her neck. Scraping his teeth against her shoulder, her heart flutters. "No biting," she says, feeling her skin heat in a way that begins to make her shift uncomfortably beneath him,

He nods against her skin and glides his tongue up along the side of her neck. Nipping at her earlobe, Elena keeps her eyes open and breathes heavily. She waits for the inevitable piercing of fangs into her skin. She holds her breath and grips at his shoulders tightly, ready to shove him away.

But she closes her eyes as he nuzzles the side of her head, grazing his teeth against her neck. He’s impatient; he abandons her neck and takes to the more neutral territory of her shoulder, kissing his way to her collarbone, then her breast.

She threads her hands through his hair and keeps her eyes closed as he sucks on the swell of her breast before licking at her nipple. Arching her back off the bed, Elena sighs loudly, her heart hammering in her chest. She curls her fingers into his hair and bends her legs at the knees, wrapping them loosely around him as she cradles him to her.

She whimpers when the warm wetness of his mouth disappears. Klaus hovers over her as he peers strangely down at her.

"What?" she asks, peering up at him. "Have I don’t something—"

He shakes his head and brushes his fingers against her cheek. "No," he says, "not at all, love. I just…" He licks his lips and pinches his brows. "I can’t feel you anymore,"

She stares up at him, feeling strangely naked even though she feels untethered. Grief begins to spiral uncomfortably in her gut. Elena had been counting down the days where he wouldn’t feel her anymore, and now that it’s here, she feels strangely at a loss about it. She glides her hands through his hair for a lack of something to do, mussing it comically, even though she doesn’t smile.

"How does it feel?" she asks quietly, peering up at him. "Being near me."

Klaus’ gaze lifts up to her hairline and he brushes his fingers gently against her cheek. She inhales quietly, steeling her shoulders. His lips curve upward gently as he studies her face, taking her in like she’s a revered painting.

His lips part, but he bows his head to the valley of her breasts and blindly gropes for her hand. Elena guides him into taking it, curling her fingers loosely through his. He holds her hand against the pillow, his grip a little bruising even though she suspects he’s trying to be gentle.

He kisses and sucks his way down her chest and to her belly. She gasps quietly, sucking her belly in as he licks at her skin and grazes his teeth against her. Clearing her throat, she watches him dumbly as he begins to tug her panties off her hips with one hand.

"Show off," she murmurs. Klaus merely chuckles.

Kneeling between her legs, he remains arched awkwardly over her as he refuses to let go of her hand. She flushes, wanting to somehow cover herself in a sheet of darkness, but his room’s too brightly lit for her to hide. He stares at her, his fingers tracing along the beauty spot of her hip and light freckles along her thigh. She’s bared of any scars, save for a scrape healing against her right knee.

He’s quick to bow his head; Elena makes a noise of surprise as he slopes his mouth firmly against hers. His hand grips hers tightly against the pillow as he clutches at her hip. She opens her legs and tilts her hips upward, biting at his mouth as he shifts against the bed.

She pulls away from his mouth and moans when he pushes his cock shallowly into her. Biting her lip, she closes her eyes and grips at his hair and his hand as he bows his head to her collarbones. He doesn’t keep his hips still; he pushes into her, groaning against her skin as he presses his blunt teeth into her collarbone.

Her heart pounds; as his cock stretches her cunt and he pants heavily against her collarbones, she knows he wants to bite her. Her heart races in her chest and her skin burns, and Elena keeps her hand in his hair as if she’s capable of tugging him away from her if he so much as presses his teeth in. But Klaus nips at her skin and licks at her, and his mouth’s on hers again before she can even turn her head to meet him.

His thrusts are sharp at first; she whimpers, the bed shifting a little too violently beneath them. His hand grips hers before he slackens it, and she lifts her back off the bed when his thrusts become kinder. Her whimpers morph into moans; Elena’s never heard herself growl like a she-wolf before, but when his hips jut into her, she grips his hair tightly and almost rips it free from his scalp.

Klaus thrusts into her sharply before pulling his hips away from her. His mouth lingers at her jawline as he continues his too slow pace; he pushes into her to pull away, and even when she wraps her legs around his hips, he’s still able to unlock himself from his place.

Elena digs her fingers into his hair, dragging her nails sharply down the nape of his neck. He growls against her jawline as she presses half-moons into his back and tears at his skin. His thrusts grow less controlled as he ruts into her. Klaus comes against her with a sharp cry, his eyes a bloodied golden.

Her heart races as dark veins press against the skin beneath his eyes. His mouth looks too full; fangs protrude from his gums and those earth-coloured eyes have disappeared beneath monstrous blood-gold. Klaus peers down at her looking like a half-man, half-monster.

She tugs her hand away from his back and delicately brushes her fingers against the veins beneath his eyes. Klaus stares down at her, panting hard, his skin flushed. When Elena licks her lips, his gaze drops.

She furrows her brows when his face pinches. "What—"

Letting go of her hand, he pulls his hips abruptly from hers. Before she can sit up on her elbows, he’s let go of her hand and bucked her hand away from his face. He’s quick to perch between her legs.

With his eyes still bloodied and golden and his fangs heavy in his mouth, he presses his lips to her cunt and licks into her. Elena shifts against the bed and gasps when the tip of a fang brushes against her sensitive skin. Her heart races in her chest; Elena’s unsure if it’s from fear of him biting her or lust for how vulnerable they both are.

She moans as he thrusts his tongue into her and whimpers again at the feel of his fangs against her cunt. He doesn’t bite her. He continues to tease her, licking into her, sucking on her cunt, brushing his fangs against her, causing her to jerk against the bed.

Gripping her hips tightly, he keeps her pressed to the bed as he licks into her and sucks on her clit. She moans loudly and tries to shift her hips. "Niklaus—"

He pushes his tongue deeper into her and fucks her hard. His hands keep her pressed to the bed, grounding her in a way she’s lacked for so long. She arches her back off the bed and digs her heels into the sheets, and thinks about laughing when all she can do is moan. Elena glides her hands down her collarbones to brush her thumbs against her nipples. Even her touching herself doesn’t see his head rise. Klaus continues to lick and suck and graze his fangs against her cunt, curling his tongue inside of her.

Writhing against his face, she comes with a hard buck and sharp cry against his mouth. Klaus’ tight grip on her hips doesn’t let up as he continues to lick at her and suck on her sensitive clit. She pants hard and tries to catch her breath, but her mouth is dry as her skin feels hot and clammy.

Finally, he pulls his mouth away from her. Lips wet, he smirks up at her. He’s slow to rise to his knees and even slower to hover over her. She peers up at him as she tries to pat her hands against her collarbones. He grabs her wrists and holds them above her head against the pillows as he presses a knee between them, a little too close to where his mouth had been perched.

He bows his head and kisses her hard, licking his tongue into her mouth and across her teeth. Elena whimpers against him, her fingers curling into his. She feels the tip of a fang against her tongue; Elena tries to trace his sharp teeth, sucking on his bottom lip as he opens his mouth beneath hers. She bites on his lip when he pulls away from her.

"You didn’t answer me," she says quietly, panting hard. She bites her bottom lip and flushes when his gaze drops to her mouth. His lips part as he looks at her as if she’s something delicious.

"I was busy," he says a little too cockily, his brows lifting and his lips curving upward. His golden and bloodied eyes disappear; the monster that had been in her bed becomes a man again. Elena finds she misses him. She misses seeing Klaus for who he is—the man and the monster had been at his most vulnerable when he’d been between her legs. "I was tending to a very important thing."

"Oh, yeah?" she laughs lightly. "What was it?"

He looks at her as if she’s grown a second head. "Eating you out."

She tries to roll away to hide her face, but he doesn’t allow her, keeping her wrists locked between the shackles of his hands and his knees straddling her thigh keeping her in place. He smiles boyishly, his cheeks flushing.

"How does it feel?" she asks, and as he opens his mouth, she’s quick to add, "Being near me. How does it feel now?"

Klaus smiles and makes it a point to look down at her naked and damp chest. Elena flushes red and does her best to try and regard him with a stern look.

"I’m not sure," he says, his lips curving upward as he peers down at her. "But I feel good."

Elena nods, still breathing heavily. Her skin feels hot and damp. Flexing her fingers, she does her best to try and move her hands; he keeps her in place, smiling down at her with a shake of his head. He gently slides his knee a little further between her legs, his skin almost grazing her cunt.

"Niklaus," she warns.

He laughs toothily, his damn dimples appearing against his pink flushed cheeks.

"What do you think did it?" she asks quietly.

He bites his lip and sighs quietly. Letting her wrists go, he drops down beside her. Elena turns onto her side and he follows, curling around her back, his skin damp and warm against hers. He rests a hand against her belly and the other against the swell of her breast. "Feeling true empathy, perhaps."

She laughs. "I told you!"

He murmurs against her shoulder. She places her hands against the back of his at her belly, wriggling against his hips pressed flush against her ass. Stilling, she sighs quietly.

Elena allows Klaus to hold her to him possessively, his fingers grazing the skin of her breast teasingly. Her skin feels hot and clammy, and she wants to card a hand through the tangles in her hair. Although she’s in the perfect position to elbow him, she keeps her hands curled around his at her belly. She doesn’t want to let go.

"What do I have to do to convince you to let me go?" she asks, tilting her head to the side. With a wide smile, she cocks her brow, "Do you want a dog treat?"

He barks his laughter before he shifts behind her and rests his cheek against the pillow. "Perhaps later when you’re wet and ready again."

She rolls her eyes. "That’s not the treat I was talking about."

"It isn’t?" he asks innocently. At the shake of her head, he laughs again.

He slides the hand at her breast to her neck, resting it against the hollow of her throat and his fingers against her pulse point. She shifts her hips against his, eliciting a noise of pleasure from low in his throat. Klaus bows his head to kiss at her neck, and, this time, her heart doesn’t pound out of fear of him biting her.