Klaus is a myth, the bogieman of the supernatural world, and he is unfathomable… until one day he is sitting in Caroline’s bed promising her an eternity of birthday’s, saving her life, wishing that the anniversary of her birth- when her death has been everything she is for quite some time now- is happy. What kind of devil does that? What kind of devil runs his fingers through her hair as he offers her a vein.
Looking at her like an artist only can, Klaus doesn’t know what hit him, because like the atmosphere weighing us down, or the electricity sizzling all around us, Caroline is an experience, not an entity. Her flesh, though stunning and absolute, is not a cage. She is boundless and how could he not pause and take her in? His is the kind of gaze that makes the sun shiver, and what is Caroline, but his light? Darkness is theirs, and so is that heat.
After years of distraction and war and the entire world demanding that they stay apart and remain steadfast enemies, nothing kept them from friends, then? Or a confession in the woods that only the leaves heard and whispered about. She could only allude to what she wanted, but make no mistake that every sigh she breathed into him was another admission, letting him know that now may only be temporarily theirs, but forever knows the way she clung to him when the sun was gone and it was time for him to go and keep his promise to her. Walking away, he felt her eyes on him, and that made each footstep bearable.
Reason? Ha! That notion has no place here, where Klaus should be a thousand years dead and nothing but the pine or oak tree by the Falls. Ever trying Caroline, would spend time there falling for and under the wrong boys, and second guessing herself in the reflection of the roaring waters- and maybe she would get it right. Yet, there is nothing reasonable about a still heart that can feel such emotion for someone centuries apart, but so bloody touchable. You can see it in his eyes, that he knows what a gift it is to have survived nature, because Caroline is cosmic, she is the sun. It will always be his, even when every soul alive on the earth is replaced with a new generation of dying humans.
One day Caroline will wake up in a city that chafes at her skin and in a bed that smells like the feeling in her gut that she can only call dissatisfaction, and she will gather her things, pausing only at the door to her hotel, wondering how she ever thought it could provide what she was looking for when all it contained inside was overpriced booze and a safe emptier than she. And she will know exactly where to go- because two can play the game of keeping tabs- and when her knuckles meet finely polished wood, the responding echo won’t sound so hollow.
Love is not inherently good, nor is it innocent. It is chemical, yet so above humanity’s ability to grasp it. Yes, it hurts and it can be a battle and make you want to kill the object of your desires- a softly whispered, “Caroline?” to make sure she’s still there, because god forbid Klaus gets in his own way again. Not when it comes to her- but that’s what makes it worth it. When everything you’ve experienced has conditioned you to fight the thing that makes your heart sing and your whole world careen to a stop… that’s love. And Klaus looks at her like a wolf begging the moon to come down to him and take away the pain of night that has been bound to him for centuries, and if only he could find a cliff tall enough, maybe she would stop looking down on him and just be his already.
Ignited by the same heat that lines the walls of Tartarus, they know what it’s like to see red and want to dance in the blood each other no longer really needs. It’s a craving, to destroy and obliterate the other with words and fangs and miles and miles of distance. Flames dance high and without break, and if primordial beings can’t escape this kind of boundary, what makes them think they can? Caroline needs to feel Klaus break under her, because if she’s the only one with fragile bones, then how could she ever be his? With the strength of a thousand men, and then some, Klaus is either the end of her or the part of her that keeps her standing tall, and she needs him to show her which one she’ll walk beside, if she’s ever to find forever in the lines on his palms. Klaus, so lost and misguided, only knows the destruction of love, and Caroline does not bend to him, so how on earth is he supposed to know if she’s true- if she could ever be his? Little does he know, that by walking away, he gives her everything she needs to come after him and make all the doubts he has fade into nothing but a smile. Because she will be giving him love, when he has only known how to take it.
New, blue fabric has a way of becoming more than a dress that moves along a beautiful woman’s form. It was only supposed to be a gift, a bribe to get a trifle of a fancy out of his system. Yes, he saw it and knew it would do just fine. Just fine- what an understatement, when it wrapped around her like the stars themselves took a dip in the sea. It embodied the depths of her eyes and the frozen lines beneath the skin of her collarbones. How do you walk away from that sort of perfection? Klaus is a starving artist, desperate for purpose, and she becomes it. Would muse suffice when the drawings his hands produce are nothing short of offerings to the goddess with sunlight hair and eyes that oceans could only pretend to be. Love at first sight? Hardly. She became his North Star, his beacon, which means so much more to a man without a heart, for he needed to be found or to find, or to stumble across the way his heart tastes in his throat before he dares utter the words he knows only in theory.
Eternity. There is no end.