Archive of Our Own

Klaus slumps back against his chair, a defeated exhale escaping his lips edging on a moan. Last time he'd looked away from his computer screen and out the window, it had been stark black outside. Now the bright orange of sunrise is already beginning to cut through the pale blue of the morning sky. 

Another all-nighter he never intended to pull.

He laces his fingers together, stretches his arms above his head, feeling a renewed punch of exhaustion on top of how knackered he already was. It's a struggle just to keep his eyes open. This merger case will be the end of him, but Klaus doesn't really have a choice. This is his Hail Mary. A golden ticket to a better life - everything he ever wanted, all at once. Freedom and well-rested nights and hot, mind-blowing sex are all just waiting for him around the bend, out of his reach for only a little while longer. All he has to do is hang in there. Soon, everything will be different. Provided he survives the next couple of months, that is. Right now, he'd say that isn't entirely guaranteed.

He's been floundering in New Orleans, pathetic and overworked, for years. Klaus can barely remember what it's like to have a proper night of sleep in his own bed, and his social life has reached an unprecedented all-time low. He stopped counting how long he's been without sex a while ago, when he reached the four months mark and it started to get humiliating as well as depressing. It's a disgrace, really. But this will all end once he's done with this case. It's a big deal for the firm on billable hours alone, but a positive outcome here will mean huge publicity and the beginning of a fruitful relationship with VIP clients. More importantly, it will seal Klaus' ticket to New York.

He's had nothing but that set on his horizon for over a year now, ever since Richard Lockwood's retirement was announced. The firm is yet to decide who will be taking over as the head of their beautiful office on Park Avenue and, luckily for Klaus, the choice does not hang completely on Mikael's whims. They have an entire board to wage in, even if they still defer to the old man. If anything, it gives Klaus an honest fighting chance. 

Elijah is obviously ahead on the run, but Elijah doesn't even want it. Not the way Klaus does. Mikael doesn't make his life a sodden hell, he doesn't turn Elijah's intestines inside out every opportunity he gets, doesn't highlight all of his failures just for the heck of it. Elijah is perfectly comfortable staying in New Orleans, paving the way to take over directly from Mikael in a few years' time, if that devil does eventually decide to retire at some point. He keeps roaring about for everyone to hear that he has Viking blood in his veins. As much as Klaus thinks that’s utter bollocks, he can believe that son of a wench will live to be a thousand, if anything then only to make sure he can haunt as many generations of his bastard son as possible.

Sticking around to watch his dear father grow old and bitterer is not a part of Klaus' plans, though. Not at all. As soon as he gets his transfer to New York, Klaus intends to never set foot in New Orleans again. And he'll be gone sooner rather than later.

Klaus' expectations out of Law School at Mikaelson & Sons were not stellar to begin with, but it's safe to say this has all turned out a lot worse than even his colorful imagination could've come up with. Swamped in work he hates, with insufferably spoilt clients, working an ungodly number of hours, completely devoid of a personal life. His weekdays are fueled on too much caffeine; his weekends blur by in a daze of bourbon, his entire meagre existence comprised between the two. But when this merger is done, none of that will matter anymore. 

The other lawyers assisting him on the case are pitifully incompetent, and he suspects that's all on purpose. Mikael assigned him with his first genuinely solo big case, and then put the worst of the worst to work under him. No doubt so he might delight in watching Klaus strive for months on end, driving himself insane trying to handle everything, only to invariably fail. The man isn't a straight-out psychopath out of opportunity, probably.

The fundamental thing Mikael fails to grasp, however, is just how motivated Klaus is. Not because of the job, or the client, or even the chance to rub his success in his despicable father's face, but to get away from his family's nefarious influence. He will do just about anything, even become the most dedicated attorney in this entire bloody firm. The last few months, he's seen the inside of his office more than he's seen his own flat. Does it make him absolutely destroyed? Sure. But Klaus has his eyes set on the prize like a man after the last drop of water in the desert. 

Once this is all over and he gets his transfer to New York, his life will fall back on track, all will be fine with the world.

He doesn't bother tidying up before he goes home. He'll be back at the office in a few hours, anyway. He'll put his head down on a pillow for a couple of hours, have a shower, change his clothes and keep up the pantomine of pretending to still have some agency over his own life.

Not even three hours later and his phone starts dinging on his bedside table with messages from his incompetent team who can't be trusted to hold on for thirty minutes unsupervised. Klaus drags himself out of bed, puts on a clean suit and is out the door before nine. He'll hear from Mikael for being late, no doubt.

Joshua is a lousy coffee maker, so Klaus decides that, since he’s already late, he might as well indulge himself and swing by the coffee shop around the corner to have a decent cup for a change. Normally, he can't be bothered to walk an entire block for it; these days, he has neither the time nor the energy. Only Elijah does him the courtesy of bringing him a cup whenever he sends one of his assistants out to the nearest Starbucks.

"I feel like I'm feeding a nasty habit," he always adds with that condescending look of reproach. "Giving drug to an addict."

"Yes, well. I don't think you'll like the alternative very much."

Elijah has the patience of a monk, but no one would ever be able to put up with Klaus on a caffeine withdrawal. No one.

In his first few years at the firm, he used to hit the coffee shop all the time to get his daily fix of large double-shot cappuccinos, sometimes more than once. Those were the good old days, which unfortunately didn’t last for long. Mikael wasted no time in swamping him with far more work than a newbie should be allowed to take on. If it wasn't for Elijah, Klaus would've probably not even made it this far. Ten years later and he's still trying to find the silver lining in soldiering on. Klaus had no idea where he was heading, or why. Thinking about the future felt very much like being drunk on a foggy night, whilst walking on the edge of a cliff. The New York transfer has, for the first time, given him something substantial to look forward to.

The smart thing to do at this stage would probably be to invest on a proper coffee machine for his office, but in spite of his critical circumstances, Klaus refuses to get comfortable in his own private piece of hell. Actively attempting to make that place more amenable feels a tad like spiritual suicide. He's supposed to want to go outside, to hate every living hour he spends breathing that stuffy air. Just because it's a part of his daily routine, it doesn't mean he shouldn't take it exactly for what it is: purgatory. There's no good coffee being served in purgatory, that's for certain.

Once he's in New York, he tells himself, there will be no need for coffee machines. He'll have decent assistants who, much like Elijah's, on top of fulfilling all of their ordinary tasks, will also wait for him in the morning with a fresh cappuccino - double shot, no cream, no sugar. That is the dream.

There are two people ahead of him at the café, a few others already sat around the place, and his head is so foggy still that it takes him a while to realize the place seems... different. It's only when he's standing in front of the register that it dawns on him that while it's all still seems vaguely familiar, he can't quite place anything. Not even the person smiling at him from behind the counter.

"What can I get you?" the woman asks affably when he stays quiet for a moment too long, blinking sluggishly at her.

"Uh..." He looks up to the chalkboard menu behind her, written in a beautifully flourished handwriting, and doesn't recognize anything. Is he so drunk on sleep deprivation that he simply walked into the wrong place? "This isn't Lenore's, is it?"

"No, this is Mystic Café."

"Oh."

"Do you want to get something to drink or are you looking for Lenore?" she prods lightly

"No, I - Coffee," he bluts out, trying to blink away the lingering haziness when he realizes he's making a complete idiot of himself, his brain still half-asleep.

"You're in luck, then," she says with a smile.

"Large cappuccino, double shot. Actually - more, if you can."

She arches her eyebrows as she pushes the buttons on her register. "Rough night?"

"Rough month."

"Will four shots work for you?"

"That will be perfect, sweetheart."

She makes a face at the endearment. It slipped out of Klaus' mouth without him even realizing it. Rebekah had a serious conversation with him about how women hate the pet names. "It's condescending, disrespectful and diminishing, especially to women you don't know." Klaus can't really say he took her words to heart, though — he doesn't care enough about what other people will think of him, truth be told. But the look on the barista's face makes him momentarily regret it.

"Caroline," she says.

"Sorry–" he bites back on the love, snapping his mouth shut just in time.

"Anything else?"

"No, thanks."

"Are you sure?" she asks, gesturing towards the display case. It's filled with pastries — pain au chocolat, danishes, scones, blueberry muffins. It looks good, but Klaus has never really had much of a sweet tooth, and he's not hungry at all. All he craves right now are those extra shots of caffeine. “You look like you could use a little sweetness,” she adds with a grin that is just on the edge of being cheeky. Klaus narrows his eyes at her slightly, not fully awake yet to tell whether she’s mocking him or just being persistent.

“You know, if I were more awake, I feel I might resent that,” he says.

The girl chuckles. “Let me know when you have a conclusion.”

“It’s way too early for that kind of sass, I’m afraid.”

“I’ll keep it in mind for later,” she says, winking. “Just the coffee, then?”

"Just the coffee," he repeats, handing over the money.

Klaus watches as she puts the fiver in the register and collects his change. She looks younger than him, maybe fresh out of college. There are many Tulane students populating the service sector in New Orleans. Her blonde hair is tied in a ponytail, strands of it framing her rather lovely face. What catches his attention, though, is her neck. She has a beautiful neck. It makes his hands itch for a pencil and paper, to capture that perfect line.

"Your change," she says, pulling him out of his inappropriate observation.

"Thank you."

"I'll be back in a second with your coffee, ...?"

It takes him three seconds to understand she's asking for his name. "Klaus."

She then moves behind the counter to prepare his order herself. He follows with rapt attention as she operates the machines with precision and dexterity, a real pro. Her care is noticeable as well, all the signs of someone who takes pleasure in what she does. It's a little hypnotizing. He never thought watching someone make coffee could be so enthralling.

God, he must be truly losing his mind.

"There you go," she says as she returns with his cup. "I added a little extra something."

He frowns. "What extra?"

"A personal touch. Just trying to make you a regular."

"By adding something I didn't ask to my drink?" he quips back, sounding a lot cattier than he'd intended. It's too early, he's slept nearly nothing and coffee is sacred.

The barista simply rolls her eyes at him. "Just try it? I will get you your plain boring cappuccino if you hate it."

He tilts his head to the side. "Boring cappuccino? Is this how you talk to your prospective customers?"

"Are you trying it or not?"

Klaus bites back on a grin, looking suspiciously at his cup. He's somewhat of a purist when it comes to coffee. Anything more than a cappuccino and he'll unceremoniously scrunch up his nose. But she stands there with an expectant air about her that brushes on a challenge, waiting for him to try it before he leaves, and so he feels compelled to do it.

It is... Quite possibly the best coffee he's ever had.

"What did you put in this?" he asks, eyes widening in mild wonder. He feels the caffeine rush he was in such desperate need for, but it comes with a punch of flavor he can't quite decipher. It's rich and velvety and it lingers in his mouth deliciously. Klaus tries it again, a longer sip this time, holding back on a delighted sigh that would be entirely unbecoming. "Are you a witch, by any chance?" It's New Orleans; anything's possible.

She chuckles again. "Like I said, it's a personal touch. We haven't been here for a long time; I need to get people to come back. Besides, you looked like you needed it."

"A therapist, then," he says, not sure whether to be offended by her admission that he basically looks tragic.

"Well, I'm a full-time barista, but I guess serving coffee every day from a counter works as a kind of therapy."

He lifts the coffee in the air before taking another sip. "This has been better than any therapist I've seen."

"Thank you!" she beams, and he can't help but notice how her smile lights up her whole face — the whole room. It’s blinding. "Enjoy your coffee and have a good day, Klaus," she says, waving at him as she moves back to the register.

Klaus doesn't reply, but it comes to his mind that this is already the best morning he's had in a while, with this marvel of a coffee and the lovely barista. It's only when he's on the sidewalk outside that he turns around to check the sign he'd somehow missed as he was coming in. Mystic Café. He wasn't so out of it he went to the wrong place; it's exactly where Lenore's used to be, but under new administration, it seems.

He can't say he's sorry for old Lenore.

The next time Klaus stops by, it's earlier still. Not even 8am yet. He had even less sleep the night before, thinks he might not even have enough strength in him to make a coherent order, but when Caroline sees him standing idly by the door, she smiles. 

"Klaus! You came back!" He feels his feet touch ground again. "I thought you'd given up on us when you didn't show up again."

"Sorry," he says as he approaches the counter. "I meant to, but work is..." he gesticulates vaguely, meaning crazy or hectic or just fucked up, which would probably be more appropriate and sum it all up.

Caroline nods and moves behind the machines, starting her ritual of pumps and milk and espresso shots. "Do you work nearby?"

"Building around the corner."

"What do you do?"

"I'm a lawyer," he says, and then, somewhat dejectedly, he adds, for no good reason, "Mikaelson & Sons."

Caroline shoots him a glance. "We have some clients here from there. It's a big firm."

"Ungodly so."

She frowns. "Don't you like it?" she asks, as though the idea of someone not fancying their own job was entirely foreign to her.

"I think it's too early for me to have this conversation."

"Of course." Caroline's smile is awkward, and he suddenly regrets the bluntness of his reply. "I'm curious, ask too many questions. Sorry."

"No, you don't have to -"

"Here," she cuts him off by handing him a large cup.

Klaus' eyes cut from her to the cup, then back again. "I didn't even order."

"I know."

She pushes the cup towards him. He takes a sip while he fishes for his wallet, expecting it to be the same cappuccino as the one he had the other day — which would be impressive enough, the mere fact she recalled not only his name but his order — and is taken aback by something else entirely. It tastes chocolatey, but it's not too sweet. Might have some spices as well. And the punch of espresso is just heavenly.

His delight must show on his face, because the grin on Caroline's face turns smug.

"What is this?"

"Spiced cocoa latte, four shots. It usually only takes two at most, but I made it double for you. Do you like it?"

She knows he does, of course she does, but she wants to hear it, and so he obliges. "I think my life just changed."

Caroline's proud smile widens. "I'm very good at what I do."

"I can see that," he agrees, his own lips curling into an involuntary smile. His face feels weird using those muscles so early in the day.

When he opens his wallet, she puts a hand out to stop him. "On the house."

"What?"

"You're a new customer."

"I thought you said your business was new.”

“It is.”

“You can't just give free coffee to every new customer that walks in."

"Who says I'm giving it to every customer?"

Klaus stops, unsure of what to say next.

"I did my due dilligence before I opened up shop here. There are several law firms in this area and lawyers and notably good customers."

"Oh?"

"You have an office-full of people to spread the word to and you're always in need of caffeine."

Klaus snorts. "That's an understatement."

"See? This is good business thinking. Consider it a free sample." She punctuates her stence with a grin, placing a hand on her hip. Klaus tries to hide his amusement behind the hem of his coffee cup.

"Do you want anything else? A muffin, maybe? I made them this morning."

"No, just the coffee."

Caroline shrugs, tilts her head to the side. "Some other day, then."

In that moment, Klaus just knows she'll have plenty of opportunities to taunt him with her display of sweets. "Maybe."

He stumbles back into Mystic Café the next morning.

It's 6.20 and Caroline is alone behind the counter, calmly sipping from a mug while she looks through a pile of papers. When the little bell by the door rings, she looks up, her face brightening at the sight of him. Honestly, Klaus cannot remember the last time someone looked this happy to see him. She's being polite and trying to captivate a client - she needs him to spread the word, she said it herself - but still. He doesn't mind getting his ego stroked, especially by that smile.

"I take it Spiced Cocoa Latte was a real hit," she says.

"Can't say I disagree." He walks closer and, without even realizing it, the question rolls off his tongue, "What are you having?"

"Tea.”

Klaus cocks her an eyebrow. "Aren't there laws against baristas who prefer tea?"

"Aren't there laws against Englishmen who prefer coffee?"

Klaus' mouth curls up into a smile. "Good point. Motherland would have me hanged."

Caroline props her elbows on the counter, leaning over. "I won't tell if you don't."

"Deal."

"Isn't it a bit early for you to be heading into work?" she asks, a curious line between her eyebrows. He registers in some distant part of his mind that Caroline is the type of talkative, perky personality that he would never be able to handle at six in the morning, or ever, truth be told. But for some reason he feels entirely at ease talking to her. Her questions strike him as harmless, mild conversation and genuine curiosity, rather than prying inquisition. He wonders if it's lonely to stand behind a counter all day long, as lonely as it feels to be trapped in an office.

"It is entirely too early," he replies sincerely. "But we’re actual vampires, lawyers. Indoors all day, up all night, feeding off the blood of the innocent."

“If that’s your idea of intimidation, I should tell you, I’m not easily scared."

"You hardly know me, lo-" he stops himself again.

"You were going to call me love, weren't you?"

"Guilty as charged. No offense, it just... Slips out."

She shakes her head but doesn't chastise him before pushing back from the counter to work her magic behind the machines. Klaus looks down at the papers she'd been reading. Seems like a stack of résumés. She says us and ours when what she really means is me and mine. The shop must be hers and she's been running it on her own. It's quite impressive.

"There's another English guy who comes here a lot," she starts again conversationally. "Calls me love and darling. A bit of a prick, if you ask me."

Klaus lifts his gaze to her, considering whether she's trying to indirectly call him a tool, but then it occurs to him. "What's his name?"

"Kol."

Of course, he thinks. "That would be my brother."

Caroline turns to him, a mortified expression on her face. "Oh my God. I'm so sorry."

Klaus laughs shortly, the sound foreign to his own ears, so long it'd been. "Don't. You're absolutely right. I'm afraid prick is much kinder than he truly deserves."

"Me and my big mouth. What are the odds of you being related to the other guy?"

"I'm not offended in the least."

"Does that mean you'll still come back?"

"It means I like this place even more now."

Caroline smiles again, handing him a cup. "On the house."

"You can't keep giving me free drinks."

"It's not a free drink, it's an apology. I just offended your brother."

"My brother is the greatest wanker to have ever walked this earth."

Caroline bites on her lower lip to hold back on laughing, and Klaus finds himself grinning widely again.

"Just take the coffee."

"If you won't let me pay, I'll have to -" He takes a fiver out of his wallet and pushes it into the tips jar. "There. I like your coffee too much to watch you bankrupt your business one free coffee at a time."

Caroline slits her eyes at him. "Smartass."

"As long as I'm not a prick."

"No," she says, her expression suddenly softer. "You're not a prick at all."

Klaus finishes his coffee some five minutes after he's settled in his office, already going through stacks of documents and typing emails left and right. It was the cappuccino today. The extra doses of espresso get him all fired up, which is exactly what he needed. Klaus is not a fan of surprises, but this little ritual where he never knows what he'll be getting to drink builds an anticipation that feels too great for what it really is — just coffee. It's only been a week, but it's already the best part of his days. He wonders what that says about him, about his life in general. Nothing good, certainly.

Still, it’s bloody good coffee.

And the barista is even better. He shakes the thought off almost immediately, refusing to acknowledge it.

He could do with more, though — coffee, that is, not the barista. Maybe he should start asking for two cups instead of one. Would that make him seem like too much of a creepy addict? He's already asking for four espresso shots. He's certain it would stir up conversation, too, if he were to suddenly start showing up with two cups, after years of not even buying coffee for himself, instead living off of Joshua's godawful excuse out of desperation. Klaus hates to be the center of office gossip. Anything that might make Mikael notice him more than the strictly necessary stresses him the fuck out.

"You're early," Kol says by means of a greeting, poking his head in the door, sounding far too sunny for such an hour. Klaus immediately notices his coffee cup from Mystic Café. He feels like ripping it out of his brother’s hands and barking at him to stay away from there. "Or did you not even go home last night?" There's a short pause. "Again."

"Didn't know you were keeping tabs on my routine," Klaus comments with a snap, eyes back on his laptop.

"Elijah is paying me.”

Klaus looks up at him. He can never tell when he’s being serious. He wouldn’t put it past Elijah to do that, though.

"Ahh," Kol smirks as he allows himself into Klaus' office, walking over to his desk and taking his empty cup. "I see you've discovered the wonders of Miss Forbes."

"Who?"

"Caroline Forbes, the lovely barista from Mystic Café. Don't tell me you didn't notice. Even you can't be that daft."

Klaus shoots him a harsh look. "Leave the poor woman alone, Kol."

"Why?" He leans sideways against Klaus' desk. "Afraid of a little competition?"

"I feel sorry for any hard-working individual who has to tolerate you. That includes me."

"What are you talking about? I'm a delight."

"Let's run a poll around the office, shall we?" Kol merely rolls his eyes. "Weren't you seeing someone, anyway?"

"I am. Have a date tonight, in fact."

"Then why would you be flirting with the barista?"

"That's what you do, isn't it? She's a looker."

Klaus lets out a pained sigh, feeling all sorts of annoyed at his little brother. "You're a tosser."

"Well, maybe if you flirted more often and got laid every once in a while, you'd be less of a moody pain in everyone's arses. Have you considered that?"

"Get out of my office, Kol. Go find someone else to pester, I have work to do."

His brother snickers, putting his coffee cup down and turning the side where Caroline scribbled his name next to a smiley face toward him. “You must be quite the tipper, Nik. Mine doesn’t have a smile,” he says, a cheeky grin on his lips. "You have a good day, big brother."

Klaus' weekends are pretty much dire, and not that different from his week days, but the fact he works from home, therefore away from Mikael's sordid direct influence, and gets to pass out on his own comfortable couch makes a resounding difference. With no one to give him a stink eye, he can spice up his coffee with a generous dose of bourbon in his own clumsy version of an Irish and work well into the night knowing that he won't have to roll out of bed at an ungodly hour and shrug into a suit. Sometimes he wears nothing but underwear all weekend. It's a relief as well as a tiny bit of personal rebellion for all the times Elijah has given him that disdainful lip twist and told him to fix his bloody tie. Doesn't make him feel any less pathetic, though. The fact there hasn't been anyone to remove his underwear in a disturbingly long while is a constant reminder of just how low the bar of his life has dropped over the last few years.

That weekend, however, the first one since Klaus became a regular at Mystic Café, he wakes up desperate for a cocoa latte. By noon, he can't stop thinking about the cappuccino with the extra shots. Mid-afternoon and he can taste the coconut milk latte with a dash of honey in his mouth, feel that obscene sweetness that slides through his tongue like a caress. When night falls, the Englishman in him is even considering that tea he refused to try.

He gets very little work done, spends an embarrassing amount of hours googling Mystic Café and its owner, Caroline Forbes. The place is relatively new, has been open for little over two months, but it's been enough time for her to get stellar reviews by a hipster cuisine blogger on the New Orleans Sentinel. He predicts soon enough the place will be swarmed by curious and eager new customers. Probably why she had a pile of résumés the other day.

Klaus is definitely, definitely not searching her for personal reasons, absolutely not, but he finds out she is from a small town in Virginia called Mystic Falls. It explains the name.

"I've always wanted to have my own business and I've always been passionate about good coffee. We didn't have anything like this where I'm from and, as a teenager, Starbucks was like the epitome of cool. So I had to start making my own coffee. Frappes, lattes, cappuccinos... It didn't take long for me to realize that Starbucks is actually the devil, creating a horde of deluded poor souls who just don't know what a decent hot caffeinated beverage is,” she told the blog.

Klaus' lips quirked into a grin as he read the interview. He could hear her voice, a crusader against evil corporations. The exact kind that Klaus works for. He knows corporate lawyers are basically devil incarnates and it's never made him blush before. All of a sudden, however, he feels so cheap. Not like it's ever been rewarding, anyway.

The more Klaus thinks about Caroline — not Caroline Caroline, but Caroline's delicious, addictive, soul-warming coffee — the more Klaus feels an itch inside of him he hadn't felt in months. It's two in the morning when he finally gives in to the desire rattling away in his chest and opens the door to his studio. It used to be Klaus' haven, the place where he would escape to in order to exorcise the demons that haunted him every other hour of his day. With a brush in his hand, Klaus would regain all the control he couldn't have at work, allowing all of the frustrations and dissatisfactions of his life bleed into his art. It would be just him and his canvas and his creation and everything about it was feeling and emotion and discharge. It was a relief, even if only momentary.

Then, all of a sudden, Klaus couldn't even paint anymore. He'd stand in his studio for hours, staring at the blank canvas, and it would stare back at him with a taunt, daring him to move forward, to attack it, to unload all of his repressed aggression onto it. And nothing. Not a wisp of inspiration, not even the maddened rhythm that would often afflict him when he allowed the beast within to take over. Klaus destroyed a good many canvases and brushes and very expensive sets of paints before he decided to lock the door to the studio and forget it was even there. That was months ago.

He flips on the light, looks at the dusty materials he left untouched on the floor, and something like fire sparks to life in him. It's not fueled on anger and frustration, as most of his work had been for years and years. No, this is different. Softer, lighter... He sees colors and brightness and gentle curves. He sees golden hair in a ponytail and a smile like sunshine. He sees the hues of fragrances — freshly baked croissants, raspberry tarts, flour and coffee, of course. Chocolate, vanilla, spices, honey. He sees the perfect line of a neck he cannot stop staring at.

Klaus is shaking to his core when he goes for the first brush, but his hand is steadier than it's been in a very long while, as steady as it is just after he's had his first fix of caffeine of the day.

And then, just like magic, he's painting again.

He falls asleep on the loveseat in his studio. Then he wakes up and goes right back to it, and he does nothing else for the rest of the weekend.

It's the best Klaus has felt in as long as he can remember.

When he stumbles into Mystic Café on Monday, there's a man behind the counter with Caroline. It's 7.30 and the place is quiet, only a couple of other clients chatting away on one corner, a woman brushing by him to leave with her coffee to go.

The man is wearing a deep red apron exactly like Caroline's. She's explaining something to him about one of the machines, and he hangs on to her every word, nodding studiously. What gives Klaus pause is the fact he's standing perhaps a bit too close, and his eyes are glued to her lips.

Something wild stirs at the pit of Klaus' stomach.

The bloke notices him standing there first.

"Good morning!" he says, moving to the register. "What can I get you, mate?"

He has an accent. Klaus hates him.

When Caroline sees him, her face breaks into a smile. "It's ok, Enzo, let me," she says, shooing him aside.

The guy frowns at her. "How am I supposed to learn -"

"He's a regular, I'll take it."

She gives Enzo a pointed look. He arches his eyebrows and purses his lips. "Of course. I'll go check the oven." He spins on his heels and disappears into the kitchen.

"I see you have new blood,” Klaus says as he approaches, his voice cattier than he intended.

"It's fantastic that the place is getting super busy, but I was going crazy here. I'm a bit of a control freak, so I postponed it for as long as I could, but I had to admit that I needed help."

"And you enjoy a man with an accent, do you?" he teases.

Caroline rolls her eyes. "God, how can you even walk carrying around all that ego?" she says, but her smile is warm. "Enzo is perfectly qualified. His accent had nothing to do with it. But I see you two have a lot in common, so maybe you'd rather be served by him from now on?"

Klaus makes a mock-angry face at her. "Don't even dare, sweetheart."

Caroline laughs, and Klaus' eyes fall on that beautiful neck of hers again, down to her collarbone, the beginning of a cleavage, his mind immediately conjuring images of what's underneath that V-neck. Klaus clears his throat, dips his head, hoping to God he hasn't started flushing now after 32 years of dignified impassiveness on this earth.

"I'll let the sweetheart pass today because I'm in a good mood," she says. "Did you have a good weekend?"

"As a matter of fact, I did."

"Oh? Hot date?"

"Something like that."

Caroline hums, busying herself with the register. He's not entirely sure, but he thinks he sees a flicker of disappointment before the mask of chipper professionalism slides in. "So, any preferences this morning?"

"Surprise me."

"I like your boldness."

She spends a moment staring at the counter behind her, biting on her lip as she considers her options. Klaus commits the expression to memory, already eager again for paper to start drawing. After a minute, she begins moving about with the same usual resourcefulness, certain hands knowing exactly where to go and what to grab. He tries not to look at the ingredients to avoid ruining the element of surprise, paying attention to her instead. How she smiles to herself when she chooses a carton of milk instead of a different one, how she winks at him when she puts his regular quadruple shots of espresso, the care with which she sprinkles his drink with just the right amount of cocoa powder.

"Here," she hands it to him. "This is a new one."

The moan that escapes Klaus' lip is positively obscene. "This tastes fruity."

"It's apricot."

"How did you put apricot into a coffee and I don't hate it?"

She shrugs, pulling at her ponytail. "I'm just that good."

"Oh, thank goodness," Elijah states flatly as he steps into Klaus' office — without knocking, always without knocking. "You're alive."

Klaus sends him a glare from under his lashes, not pausing on the email he's typing. He's on a roll here. Not even noon yet and he feels like he's accomplished so much already. His days hadn't been this productive in ages. He blames the coffee. It really is that good.

"If I was dead, Elijah, one of your spies would've told you."

"I don't have spies."

"Kol told me you're paying him."

Elijah scoffs. "That little bugger. I didn't pay him to spy on you; I paid him to keep his mouth shut."

"Juvenile mistake, brother. Kol doesn’t know how to do that."

Elijah comes to stand right in front of his desk, hands in his pockets. Klaus lifts his eyes to his older brother and finds him staring at him with that cold assessing look he uses in cross-examination. The one that makes people spill their darkest secrets. Unfortunately for Elijah, that look hasn’t worked on Klaus since he was ten years old.

"Don't you have anything better to do than annoy me, brother?"

"You’re in a good mood."

"Not particularly."

"It's rather glaring on you."

"How perceptive."

"Why are you in a good mood?"

"You say that like it concerns you."

"I’m intrigued."

"Why do you care?"

"I haven't seen you in a good mood since Finn's engagement party, when you got obscenely drunk and he announced he'd be moving to London."

Klaus' lips kick up into an involuntary grin. "That was a fantastic night."

"Indeed. Did you have a fantastic weekend?"

Klaus slumps back against his chair, directing his full attention to his inconveniently curious brother. "Can't you just take your blessings and let me be?"

"I merely want to understand."

"There's nothing to understand. I had a good night of sleep, a good cup of coffee, Mikael hasn't shown his face yet." Elijah tilts his head, making a suspicious noise in his throat, like he doesn't really buy it. Klaus grunts. "You're ruining it, Elijah."

"Forgive me. I see my brother without his permanent scowl in place, I can't help the curiosity." He smiles warmly at Klaus, his eyes then roaming over his desk, stopping on the empty coffee cup. He lifts it, reads the message written on the side — Have a great day! :) - and puts it back down. "Must be one hell of a cup of coffee."

Elijah's smile turns wicked before he waltzes out of Klaus' office.

That afternoon, Klaus does something he never does: he heads out for coffee in the middle of the day. He's been limiting his visits to Mystic Café to once a day — religiously, but just once. He tells himself it's because that much caffeine is bad for him, but the logic sounds fickle even to his own mind. He doesn't dwell on it, though, doesn't go any deeper than whatever. As long as he respects the limit, he's fine. 

That day, he doesn't.

Maybe it was Elijah’s impish and knowing smile, or maybe it's just that what started as a fairly promising day took on a steep turn for the worst when he was called into an unscheduled meeting with Mikael and some of the other partners. Somehow, even when the meetings aren't about him or his work or his cases, Mikael finds a way to point out all the ways in which Klaus is failing to meet his standards. These ludicrous, unattainable standards that seem to be reserved to his blood relatives only; bastard children are fated to falling pitifully short.

After that, he either needs a coffee or a drink, but it’s the middle of the day and he’s not that far gone yet, so there’s really only one option.

He squints at the brightness outside, not used to that much natural light. He should've brought sunglasses. Rebekah, with her Californian tan, is always teasing him about how pale he is, calling him variations of Count Dracula or saying next thing he'll be sparkling under the sun, a reference he’s never bothered to understand. One of her vampire teen dramas, no doubt. Klaus loves his sister to bits, she's by far his favorite sibling, but he swears she's never aged past seventeen.

Klaus is momentarily taken aback by how packed the café is. He's so used to the slow trickling of clients in the ungodly early hours he never realized it was getting this busy. No wonder Caroline needed help. All the tables are taken and some people are even standing by the windows, nursing their coffees while scrolling through their twitter and Instagram feeds. Enzo is behind the register taking an order and Caroline is a little further ahead, having a cheery chat with—

Klaus' whole face scrunches into annoyance, fire licking him up inside. He strides purposefully towards the friendly exchange.

"Hey!" Caroline says, smiling before she notices the expression on his face. "What's wrong?"

"Yes, Niklaus," Elijah says, feigning concern. "You seem upset."

"I just met your brother!" she adds, motioning towards Elijah, whose smile broadens as though he's extremely proud of himself. Klaus' glare is unbidden. "How many of you are there?"

"Too many, I’m afraid," Klaus retorts.

"This is heavenly, Miss Forbes,” Elijah says after sipping from his cup with a hum of appreciation that makes Klaus bristle.

"I pride myself in leaving great first impressions."

"You most definitely do." Elijah turns to him then. "Thank you for recommending the place, Niklaus."

"Don't mention it," he mumbles.

"This is truly exquisite. I used to ask my assistant to go all the way to the nearest Starbucks -" Caroline makes a face; Elijah grins. "I know, what was I thinking? I'll make sure she only ever comes here from now on. As a matter of fact, I'll have my whole staff get their coffee fix from you. They'll be thanking me, no doubt."

"That's very generous, thank you.” Caroline seems so genuinely happy Klaus doesn't even have it in him to be angrier at Elijah for the obvious jab.

"Well... I should get going. It was a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss Forbes.”

“It’s Caroline, please.”

“Caroline,” Elijah repeats, all self-satisfaction and polite deference. “Congratulations on your lovely café."

Caroline's cheek flushes just that tiny bit when Elijah winks at her before he turns on his heels. Klaus' blood is running hotter than that coffee he wants to turn all over his brother’s cheap flirtation.

"Niklaus," his brother says with a nod as he brushes by and walks out.

"You never told me you had a nice brother”, Caroline says.

"That's because I don't."

"What's wrong with Elijah?"

Elijah. Barely met and already they are on first name basis. "With Kol you know exactly what you're getting. That one is a devil in disguise." Caroline laughs, shaking her head. Klaus frowns. "What's funny?"

"He said the same thing about you."

Caroline's coffee truly works wonders, but it hasn't started operating miracles yet.

Klaus' week goes downhill from then on. His misery has little to do with Elijah or his juvenile idea of provocation, but the fact every person in his brother's team — including Elijah himself — is suddenly parading about the office with Mystic Café cups all the bloody day long while Klaus barely has any time to breathe only sours his mood further.

Klaus should be happy for Caroline, of course. Her business is flourishing and, whatever Elijah's motivation may be, he was not lying when waxing poetics about her coffee. It's nothing short of divine. Even so, Klaus cannot help but feel... Cheated.

His little morning rituals with Caroline were the one part of Klaus' life his family could not touch. Foolish, perhaps, but in his increasingly chaotic days, it grew to be the one thing Klaus actually looked forward to, craving the time he spent not thinking about mergers or clients or Mikael as much as he craved her caffeine infusions. Seeing the Mikaelson madness slowly bleed into his retreat both exasperates and enrages him. It's not fair. First Kol, then Elijah and his retinue of minions. What's next? Mikael?

Klaus is still, as far as he knows, the only person who says Surprise me every day when Caroline asks for his order, and the sparkle of challenge in her eyes is priceless. No one can take that away.

"I have high hopes for this one," she says with excitement as she prepares his drink.

"Do tell."

"I have been thinking about it for a while. It kind of totally consumed my life. After many experiments, I think I've got it. You'll be my guinea pig."

"Are you granting me the honor of being the first to try an original Forbes creation?" he says, lips quirking into a crooked smile. "I'll try not to flatter myself."

"You should," she says as she slides the cardboard sleeve onto it. "I made this especially for you."

Klaus’ heart gives a violent lurch in his chest. "You did?"

She nods. "You come in here every day expecting to be surprised, and I have many aces up my sleeve, but I realized... The real challenge is not to get you to like a new thing every day, but to get you to fall in love with just one. I took it upon myself to find the perfect drink for you. The one that's gonna keep you coming here for years and years and that you’ll never find anywhere else. I'm thinking about calling it The Klaus."

Klaus licks his lips, trying — and failing — to bite back the silly smile pushing to break way. It's an unbecoming look on him. Klaus Mikaelson doesn't do silly, despite how often he makes a fool of himself in front of Caroline Forbes.

"Color me intrigued," he says, trying to disguise the indecent levels of excitement festering at the pit of his stomach.

Caroline puts the cup on the counter and pushes it slowly towards him. "I've been watching you closely for the past few weeks. I've catalogued all of your reactions, from least pleased to positively enamored. All the little sounds, that thing you do with your mouth -"

"What thing?"

"The one where you pull your lips into not quite a smile, and you arch your eyebrows and your dimples show. It's your perplexed face."

Klaus huffs out a little chuckle. "I don’t have a perplexed face."

"Oh, you do. And this..." She taps her fingers twice on the cup. "Has to be better than that."

She takes a step back, hands on her waist as she hangs in suspense.

"That sounds like too great a responsibility, love."

"I know. But I trust my guts."

"I'm sure you have formidable guts, but what if I don't like it?"

"Then just be honest about it and I'll keep trying."

"And how will I know if I'm truly smitten with your concoction? It might be as good as many I've had before."

"Let me be the judge of that. Just drink it."

Klaus decides beforehand that he will make a show of enjoying the damn coffee. Even if it turns out to be the most hideous thing he's ever had — unlikely, considering it was made by an actual witch —, he'll still throw his head back and moan and try his best to match the perplexed expression she described, even if he's never been aware of it. Klaus has been a disappointment to a good many people, but he cannot bear the idea of thwarting Caroline’s expectations. It's been too long since anybody put such effort into something just to please him.

He wants to tell her she doesn't have to do all that, that he's already fallen head over heels with her coffee, that nothing in this world could ever drive him away from this place, but... Truth is, he's overjoyed by what she said, in ways he cannot fathom. So instead of speaking, he decides to return her courtesy with a bit of a theatrical show of appreciation. Let Caroline try to woo him all she wants. 

But then... He doesn't even have to fake it.

The blend is otherworldly perfect. He can tell a few ingredients, but not the whole of it, not what makes it so unique, so different from everything else he's tried so far. It's flawlessly balanced, an impeccable consistency. Cinnamon, maybe, definitely almond, whipped cream and — is that whiskey?

"Do you love it? Do you absolutely love it? Can you not live without it?" Caroline blurts out.

"I... Bloody hell, I think I want to marry this."

She throws her arms in the air with a triumphant little yelp, her face lighting up like a thousand suns. Klaus blinks slowly at her, equal parts stunned by the drink and marveled at her reaction. He hadn't even manifested a response yet, or he didn't think he had, but the orgasm on his tongue must've shown.

"I'll give you everything I own," he says after a moment. "All the money in the bank. My apartment. You can have my car, too. It's all yours, so long as you promise to never, ever stop feeding me this."

Caroline laughs. "Well, I'd probably go to jail for that, but I’m flattered. I'll add the Klaus to the menu, starting today."

"Is this - Are you serious? You're naming it after me?"

"Of course. I made it for you, didn't I? It's all your favorite things."

Klaus looks at her, at the proud smile on her lips, at the joyful crinkles around her eyes. Something softer than her whipped cream and warmer than her coffee fills his chest to burst. "Yes," he agrees. "All of my favorite things."

When the weekend rolls out, Klaus is so swamped in work he can't even take a breather or give himself a pause to paint away his frustrations. It's like he swallowed a pinless grenade and the damned thing is about to blow him to shreds at any second. It takes long hours of grunting to himself and shuffling restlessly around his flat for Klaus to realize that he doesn't have to hate his life from the confinements of his home just because it's a weekend. 

It had never crossed his mind before, finding somewhere else to work. For the last so many years, he's led his ghostly existence between the office and his apartment, with barely any in-betweens. On a whim, however, he packs his laptop, gets in his car and drives all the way downtown. It makes no logistical sense whatsoever, seeing as he lives across the river; if all he wanted was a change in venue and a decent coffee, there are at least 50 places between his home and Mystic Café, some as close as two minutes away on foot. But he doesn’t even have to dwell on it much to know that it’s useless to question the instinct; no other place will do.

He comes up with a list of mitigating excuses: he has to stay near the office in case he needs anything he might've accidentally forgotten there (he didn't); Caroline's Klaus is by far the best thing he's ever had (true, though it sounds completely self-obsessed); it's better to be somewhere where he knows the place than surrounded by strangers (Klaus hates people; he runs away from acquaintances like the plague). In the end, it's just inevitable, almost stronger than him. An addiction all of its own. He's apparently become one of those insufferable hipsters. Next thing he’ll be creating an Instagram account and posting photos of coffee cups and croissants.

It's a Sunday afternoon and there's a decent amount of clients there. Caroline is alone behind the counter. It might be Enzo’s day off. Klaus can't say he's sorry; nothing sours his mood like being served by Enzo. 

He stands out of the line for a while, waits until Caroline's seen to all the orders and catches a break. She looks tired, poor thing, could probably use a little Klaus herself. When she lays eyes on him, her mouth opens in a surprised gape before she’s smiling and waving him forward.

“It’s Saturday!”

“So I’ve heard.”

"What are you doing here?"

"I had work to do, so I thought -"

"You're gonna work from here?"

"If that's alright with you."

"Of course it's all right with me!” she beams. “Go sit! I’ll get you something."

He flashes her a satisfied grin and goes to find himself a decent spot. He chooses a table by the window from where he can see the counter perfectly. Klaus takes off his jacket, turns on his computer and gets to work. A moment later, Caroline arrives with his coffee and a pastry.

"What's this?"

"Cream cheese danish with berries and lemon glaze. New recipe I'm trying."

Klaus grins. "Guinea pig again?"

"Your adventurous with your palate, I like that about a man," she replies with a smirk that makes Klaus feel things. "Besides, we've already established that I trust your opinion."

His smile kicks upwards just that tiny bit more. Already the decision to leave his apartment and drive halfway across town feels worth is. He looks back down at the plate, cocking an intrigued eyebrow at the danish. "It looks beautiful, but I might not be the best judge. You know I don’t have much of a sweet tooth."

"It's not supposed to be too sweet. If it is, then I've done it wrong."

He takes a bite; the fluffy dough, still warm from the oven, melts on his tongue. "This is amazing," he speaks around a mouthful. "I would trade a brother for this."

"Hmm… Kol or Elijah?"

"Either. Both. Take Finn, as well."

"I don't think I've met that one."

"Thank goodness for that. I wouldn't wish it on anyone, least of all someone who makes such a delicious treat."

Caroline frowns. "Strong words," she says. "Do you hate all your siblings?"

Klaus ponders over the question while he chews on his danish. "I don't hate Rebekah. She's the youngest one, lives in California. I suppose I don't hate Elijah either, he's just..." Klaus motions his hand vaguely. "Elijah. And Kol... Well, he's a brat most of the time, but he has his moments. Finn is an entirely different beast." A beast that was forged from the bowels of my parents, Klaus doesn't say. He wasn't the only one who was relieved to see their older brother move across the Atlantic. 

When he stops talking, he realizes Caroline had her chin on the palm of her hand, watching him with rapt attention. Klaus doesn't really talk about his family. He had a girlfriend break up with him because he told her he was an only child and both his parents were dead to avoid getting into details. Camille felt very strongly about communication and what she classified as a pathological disposition for lies. It taught Klaus never to date someone with a degree in psychology. It’s just not worth the bother.

"I don't want to bore you with my family antics."

"I'm not bored. I think it's fascinating."

"You have no idea what you're saying."

"Maybe. But I'm an only child, and the people I know only had one sibling at most. You have tons of them. I've always wanted a big family."

"My big family would make you want to run for the hills and hide in a cave by yourself for all eternity."

"So you don't get along?"

"It's... Complicated."

"Well, you haven't run for the hills. I think you turned out pretty ok, if you ask me." Caroline pushes up her seat and winks at him. "Duty calls."

Klaus is left in a state of absolute disbelief as she walks back to the counter. Thirty-two years of age and this might be the first time anyone claims he's turned out ok. His ex-girlfriend with a degree to validate her opinion would probably have some points to make.

He doesn't know if Caroline is completely crazy or if she genuinely sees something no other person ever did. Klaus is almost afraid of believing the latter.

He's in the middle of the most boring legal document the world's ever produced when Caroline slips a cup in front of him.

“Another? I thought you refused to sell me -” he stops talking when Caroline turns the cup so he can read the message written on the side — not in her by now familiar calligraphy. You're cute, followed by a phone number and a winking smiley face.

Klaus’ eyebrows crinkle. "What is this?"

Caroline's smile looks far too tight to be entirely sincere. "Redheaded girl at the counter sent it to you. Her name is Genevieve."

Klaus lifts his eyes and immediately finds the girl, staring straight at him. She waves, crimson lips drawing into a charming smile. He stays frozen for a moment, unsure of what to do. After a beat, when it feels like it might be awkward to not do anything, he decides to wave back, offering her a nod in acknowledgement.

"This is completely weird," he says lowly under his breath even though the girl — Genevieve — would hardly be able to hear them. "I don't think anyone's ever slipped me their phone number on a cup of coffee. What is this, anyway?"

"Latte."

"Just latte?"

She shrugs. "She asked what would be a good coffee for a guy she didn't know, I said latte."

He grins. "Did you, now?"

"I didn't know she meant you."

"And you would've had a Klaus right up if she'd specified."

Caroline scoffs. "Please. That would be making things too easy for her."

"Of course, sweetheart." Klaus shakes his head, taking a sip from his latte. It's not bad, but it's just... Not great either. Caroline has ruined him for pretty much anything other than her special personalized mix. That latte could've been perfectly fine before he met her. Now it just falls flat, unflavored and unimpressive. It's not poor Genevieve's fault, though; most things tend to fall off-color around Caroline.

"What should I tell her?" Caroline asks.

"What do you mean?"

"She wanted me to ask if you'll call."

Klaus looks up at her, at the sudden intensity in her eyes. "I... Well. Tell her I'm busy."

"So you won't call?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Does it matter?"

"Maybe."

He thinks for a second, stealing a glance at Genevieve again. A few years ago, she would've been just his size. Kol would probably call him an idiot for passing on a chance to have a date. A-year-ago Klaus would, too. Hell, two-months-ago Klaus. All of a sudden, however, he doesn't feel so desperate anymore.

"I don't want to,” he says simply.

"She's pretty."

Klaus purses his lips. "I suppose."

Caroline is quiet for a beat, and then she smiles again, this time real and open. "I'll tell her you have a girlfriend."

"Why -"

"It's better than being busy. She just bought you coffee, don’t stomp all over her."

Caroline goes back to the counter and whispers something to Genevieve. Even from a distance he can see right through her apologetic façade. She's a terrible liar, Caroline, which Klaus finds oddly endearing. Genevieve makes a silent 'oh', looking very disappointed as she mouths an I'm sorry to him before scurrying out.

It doesn't escape Klaus how Caroline goes back to work with a skip in her step.

When Klaus steps out of the elevator, Hayley, Elijah's secretary, is waiting for him with some papers to sign. He and Hayley have never seen eye to eye, and he frankly does not understand why his brother would employ a mouthy girl with little to no qualifications for the job, but his coffee is divine and he's in a rather good mood. 

"There you go, love," he tells her, grinning affably as he gives back the signed papers with not even a hint of a complaint. 

Hayley's face crumples up like he’d just punched her. "Are you ok?"

"Whatever do you mean?"

"You're..." She looks him up and down. "Being nice."

"Does it bother you?"

She thinks for a beat. "Maybe."

"Well, I happen to be in a good mood, if you must know."

She narrows her eyes at him. "Are you sure you didn't hit your head? Should I tell Elijah?"

Klaus chuckles, dismissing her with a wave of his hand before sipping from his coffee. "You have a good morning."

"Bekah, do you see what I see?"

"Do my eyes and ears deceive me, Kol, or did Niklaus just say good morning to Elijah's pet?"

Klaus lifts his head to find both his younger siblings gossiping, none too discreetly, a few feet away; Kol sporting a mock-shocked expression that looks frankly ridiculous on him, and Rebekah with her customary resting annoyed face. Despite the teasing, Klaus can't help the happy lurch his heart gives at the sight of his sister.

"Rebekah," he says by means of greeting, lips curling upwards into a grin. Too soon, maybe, because the two of them keep their silly pantomine going.

"What do you suppose is that weird thing on his face?" Kol asks.

"Should we call 911? He might be having a stroke."

"Amusing," Klaus deadpans. "You two should get your own sitcom."

Kol's mouth drops and he nudges his sister with his elbow. "Bekah... You don't think it could be... A smile?"

"Niklaus? Never. His face muscles have been frozen into a permanent scowl. The doctors said it was irreversible. Chronical stick up his arse."

"Are you two quite done?"

"Not quite," Kol replies, a sly smirk spreading on his lips. "But I do have somewhere I need to be, sadly. You'll take it from here, right, Bekah?"

"Don't forget you're meeting me for lunch!" she calls after him as he waltzes down the hall.

"Why wasn't I informed you were coming over?" Klaus asks.

Rebekah links her arm through his as they head for his office. "It wouldn't be a surprise if you knew."

"What brings you home?"

"Work. I have to visit some possible locations for a new TV show we'll start shooting in a couple of months."

"In New Orleans?"

"Yep. Marcel's starring."

"What's it about?"

"Vampires."

"Oh, for goodness' sake. Aren’t you done with that yet?”

“Never! Don’t underestimate the allure of darkness, Nik.”

“Darkness.” He rolls his eyes. He’d dare say there’s far more darkness in him than in vampires who glow under the sun. “We already have the ghost freaks and the witch freaks, we're about to get swamped by a horde of vampire freaks as well? Enough is enough."

"Werewolves, too. And there's also a hybrid."

"What in the bloody hell would that nonsense be?"

"Half vampire, half wolf."

"How does that even work?"

"Well, he's -"

"No. Don't tell me. I don't have enough space in my brain to waste with that kind of information."

Rebekah drops down on his chair, swirling around while he puts down his briefcase and takes off his coat and jacket.

"So. Who is she?" his sister asks, fixing him under a piercing stare.

"Who?"

"The girl. The one you're smiling about."

“You mean Hayley?”

“No, I mean that you got you in such a good mood that you’d even smile to Hayley.”

"I have no idea what you're talking about, Rebekah."

"Don't play daft with me, Nik. Kol's already told me everything. Her name is Caroline, she owns the café -" She takes the still half-full cup he’d left on his desk. "Mystic Café. Not sure how I feel about that name. It would never work in LA."

"You don't have witches and vampires in LA, do you?"

"I suppose not." She puts the cup down, folding her arms in front of her chest. "So you don't deny it, then?"

Klaus lets out a tired sigh. He loves his sister to bits, but she can be exhausting at times, particularly when she takes it upon herself to meddle in his life. For reasons that are beyond him, it appears all his siblings have joined forces to do just that. One would think that having a completely uninteresting life would at the very least spare you of having to put up with nosy relatives. One would be wrong.

"First of all, Caroline and I are not a thing. Second, if Kol already told you everything, then why are you asking?"

"Because I want to hear it from you, of course. I find out my dearest brother, who hasn't had sex in a year, is finally back on the horse, I want to know everything about it."

"Don’t you think it is freakishly inappropriate the kind of interest you people have on my sex life? This family is damaged enough as it is."

"Well, somebody has to, since you clearly don't. We’re just looking out for you."

"I don't see anybody torturing Elijah."

"That's because Elijah is probably having more sex than all of us put together."

Klaus frowns. "Is he shagging his desk? He's always here."

"Exactly."

"What are you saying?"

"Oh, come on. I'm halfway across the country and even I know." Klaus just shakes his head. How has his brother been parading a girlfriend around the office and he hasn't heard of it? Has he been that inattentive lately? Rebekah huffs out in disbelief. "Are you so distracted with that girl you've become this daft? Hayley, Niklaus. Or do you really think Elijah keeps her around because she's so great with his schedule?"

Klaus' eyebrows shoot upwards. "Elijah is shagging Hayley?"

"Well, duh."

"Elijah, shagging his secretary?" He huffs out a disdainful laugh. "How so very pedestrian. I never thought our courtly brother would ever go there. That seems so beneath him." Obviously, Klaus gets the appeal of Hayley. She's quite pretty, if completely insufferable. He just didn't expect his noble brother to lower himself to such a mundane and stereotypical thing as screwing the secretary. That's more Kol's style. 

The information makes Klaus oddly pleased, though. Seeing human flaws in his otherwise perfect older brother always makes him feel less of a disgrace, although the effect is not bound to last long.

"Don't change the subject, Nik," Rebekah continues, drawing his attention back to her. "Caroline. Kol says you've been hitting her place every single day for months."

"They sell coffee there," he says flatly, nodding towards the cup.

"That's it? That smile on your face and the flare on your step is entirely about coffee?"

"Indeed."

"So you're banging her, then."

"No."

"A one-night stand."

"We've never been together."

"Not even a little snogging?" Klaus shakes his head. "Well, then what the bloody hell is she?"

"My barista."

"That's impossible. You would never be this chipper over something as ordinary as coffee."

“Can’t be weirder than Elijah’s outlandish taste for his secretary.”

“It’s coffee. Honestly, if you’re getting this excited about coffee, I’m worried for you.”

"Her coffee is far from ordinary," he says, retrieving his cup and taking a generous sip. A hum of contentment rumbles in his throat. "This, sister, is heaven in a cup."

"Good morning, my lovelies," Kol says as he falls in stride with Klaus and Elijah. 

The smirk on his face is far too big for so early in the morning, makes Klaus want to smack him. Then again, most things about Kol can only be digested through a good smacking. His response is an incoherent grunt. He is already grumpy because he didn't have enough time to stop by the café before heading into office, and grumpier still because Kol, sporting a large steaming cup, obviously did. 

"No coffee today, Nik?" Kol asks in a tone that suggests a good many things, none of which are of Klaus liking.

"I was late. If I'd known you were heading there, I'd have asked you to bring me one."

"And forfeit the visit? I thought that was the fun part."

"The fun part is the caffeine pumping through my system. There's only so much of you I can tolerate so early in the day."

Kol chuckles as the three of them step into the elevator. There's a second of quietness before Kol lets out a moan that is the kind of thing no one ever wants to hear from a sibling.

"Nik," he drawls. "Brother... How come you never told us you were so delicious?"

Klaus casts him a weird look, but it's Elijah who voices out his thoughts. "Kol, please. We all know you have your peculiar tastes, but I beseech you to keep it to yourself."

"You don't understand, Elijah. Our brother here had been hiding his game from us."

"Did you fill your coffee cup with vodka again, Kol?" Klaus asks.

"Not at all. I'm merely astonished that you would hide something like this from your own family. You're a tasty little thing, Niklaus."

"Kol," Elijah admonishes. "Would you please?"

"You mean you haven't tried Nik yet? Here. Mend that terrible mistake."

"Oh for goodness' sake," Klaus grumbles moodily as he finally understands what his deranged brother is on about. He should've known it was only a matter of time before one of them came upon the new item on the café's menu.

"What is this?" Elijah inquires.

"That, Elijah, is The Klaus. A new drink being served by the lovely Miss Forbes." Kol fixes Klaus with a toothy grin, entirely too pleased with himself. "It's a taste of paradise."

Elijah's expression goes from suspicious to amused as he cuts his eyes to Klaus. "Heavens," he breathes out as he finally tries the drink, eyebrows slashing together. "Cinnamon, almond, cream... How many shots of espresso are in this?"

"Not enough, if you ask me. I think Miss Forbes failed to capture the true bitterness of our brother's soul. But this toned-down version is quite something. Makes Nik rather palatable, I'd say."

"It does, indeed. The Klaus," he repeats with a hint of ironic reverence, licking his lips after another sip. A devilish grin plays on the corners of his mouth.

"I hate you both. Leave me alone," Klaus shoots at them as the elevator door opens and he stormsout.

Kol's rich laughter follows him as he cuts a beeline to his office. The last thing he hears before shutting the door is his brothers quarreling over — well, him.

"That's mine, Elijah!”

“You gave it to me.”

“It was only a little taste, now give it back."

“I have a meeting in twenty minutes, Kol.”

“So? Have your pet go fetch you your own Klaus.”

"You have to stop saying that right now."

Klaus has a pile of work waiting for him and his phone hasn't stopped vibrating in his pocket, but he can't even get himself to check his messages. He shrugs on his coat and walks outside way earlier than it would be wise to. Before he knows it, he's at the café. Enzo is sweeping the floor and Caroline is preparing an order for what's likely her last client and he realizes they're about to close. It’s too early for him, but too late for normal people with regular working schedules.

"Shit," he says. "I'm sorry. I didn't realize -"

He has no idea what he's doing there, didn't really think when he walked out, just sort of allowed his legs free rein to move off their own accord while his mind was too busy to consider and this is where they brought him. Muscle memory or something. All he knows is he could not stay at the office for another second. Not after Mikael barged into his office and gave him a run down on all the ways he is the biggest disappointment of his life.

"All that I invested into your education, against my better judgment and only to appease your mother… I always knew you weren't cut out for this. I should've known it would all be a waste of everyone's bloody time and money. You're a pathetic excuse for a professional, boy. You’re weak."

Years and years of his life, so many sleepless nights, so many relationships destroyed because of his workaholic habits, and this is what he has to hear because a whining client dared to question a clause he insisted should be on the contract. A fundamental clause he is right about. Mikael has to know that he is right.

He had to get out of that place before he ended up in jail for arson.

"Hey." Caroline's voice drags him out of his burning thoughts. He blinks her back into focus, finds her standing right in front of him. He didn't even see her move from behind the counter. "Are you ok?"

"Yes, of course.” She purses her lips, tilts her head. Klaus sighs. “I don’t know.”

"Wait here," Caroline says, and then disappears into the back room. She returns a moment later, no apron, shrugging on an oversized jeans jacket. "Enzo, can you close for me?"

Enzo looks at her, then at Klaus, and exhales in resignation. "The things I do for you, gorgeous..."

"Thank you,” she says pointedly, before taking Klaus’ hand as she walks by him and drags him with her as she makes for the door.

"Where are we going?”

"You look like you need a drink. Or six."

More like twenty. Hell, he'll have an entire barrel of bourbon. One big enough for him to drown himself into, preferably.

Caroline takes him to a bar called Rousseau's in the heart of the bloody French Quarter. She treats the bartender like he's an old friend.

"Do you come here a lot?"

"I live nearby."

"You live in the French Quarter?"

"Yeah. So?"

"I thought nobody in their right mind would ever live here."

"I like the neighborhood. It’s lively."

"Sure. If wasted, boob-flashing tourists are your thing, I suppose."

She snorts. "Because they're not yours?"

"Not in the least."

"You are such a snob."

"I prefer the term refined."

She rolls her eyes. "Shut up or I'm gonna have to punch you."

“I wouldn't mind that. In fact, I might encourage it."

Klaus has completely lost count of how many bourbon shots he's knocked back already. At this point, it doesn't even matter anymore. One glass more, one glass less won’t make the difference once he’s crossed the line of stinking drunk. He’ll be shitfaced tomorrow either way, and so Klaus just keeps them coming in a feeble attempt to drown out his misery.

She asks him what's wrong — not like she's being nice and thinks that's the polite thing to do, but like she cares. Like she's concerned for him. Like she knows his days are mostly shit, but can tell there's something especially sour about this day. Today is just worse. He ends up telling her everything. Things he never meant to tell anyone, not even his siblings. It just pours out of him in an unstoppable rush. 

He tells her about how, when he was eight years old, they found out he wasn't Mikael's legitimate son, but rather the fruit of his mother's affair with the contractor renovating their Tuscan villa. Esther spent three whole months there during the summer and came back pregnant. Everyone thought Klaus was premature when he was born almost two months before her alleged due date.

His life hadn't been exactly a bed of roses before the revelation, perhaps because deep down Mikael always suspected, or perhaps because he just had terrible parents anyway. But it was bliss in comparison to the living hell it became after.

He tells Caroline how his stepfather made it his life's mission to torment him as though he'd been responsible for his wife's betrayal. He confesses to her that he never wanted to go to law school or take any part in the family's business, was coerced into it or made to forfeit all his plans if he didn't want to end up alone, penniless and with nowhere to go.

"God... That’s terrible. What kind of parent does that? He raised you as his son, he shouldn’t treat you like this," she says, indignation simmering beneath her words. She looks angry, as though she’d fancy having some words with Mikael if he were to stroll through the door right then. Klaus would very much like to see that, though he wouldn't wish Mikael on anyone, least of all her. "He's a monster, Klaus. Why are you still working for him?"

He chuckles sadly, gazing into his drink. "It's hard to escape. Until tonight I had hopes that I might yet wriggle my way out of his control by getting a transfer to the New York branch. It's what I've been putting everything into for over a year. My whole life has been about it. My every heartbeat, every breath has been poured into that. But I realize now... I was a fool in deluding myself that Mikael would ever grant me anything that might bring me even a sliver of satisfaction. He'll do anything in his power to crush me, won't ever allow me to get the transfer, even if all the other partners are in favor. He'll find a way, he always does. I will die here, in this web of misery of his forging, forced to pay for my mother's mistakes because he's too proud to blame his own sodden failures as a father and a husband for her betrayal."

He knocks back yet another drink, lets the burn of it wash down the bitterness trapped behind his throat. He puts the glass down with a thud, already signaling the bartender for another. When he turns to Caroline, he finds her staring down at her own glass, an odd look on her face that he can't quite read. "What is it?" he asks. "Have I horrified you? Forgive me."

"No, it's not that." She sighs. "It's just... I never realized you were working yourself into the ground for a transfer. I thought maybe you wanted a promotion, but... It didn't occur to me that you were so desperate to leave New Orleans."

"Caroline..." he starts, but stops, not really sure what to say. His thoughts are scattered because of the booze and he's afraid to presume what that line across her lips might mean. All he knows is that it tugs at something deep inside his chest, makes him want to apologize, even if he doesn't really know what for.

The barman returns with another dose when Caroline excuses herself to use the loo. When she comes back, he's already finished with it. Soon enough he can't even hold himself steady anymore. 

"I think it's time to go home," she says, and then she's helping him into his jacket and pulling him up from the stool.

He doesn't really remember leaving the bar or getting in a car or anything else for that matter. When a measure of awareness returns, he's being eased down onto a couch, and all he can tell for certain is that he doesn't live there. "Where am I," he slurs, narrowing his eyes to slits as though that's going to stop his vision from dancing.

"My place. It was closer," Caroline explains. "I don't know where you live."

"Across the river."

"That's kinda too broad for an uber driver. Can you take off your shoes?"

Klaus peers down at his feet. They look impossibly far away. All four of them. "Of course."

"You work on that. I'll go find you something to wear."

He doesn't give that much of a thought while he struggles to remove his shoes, toppling sideways on the couch in the process. When she returns with a pair of dark sweatpants, though, it dawns on his inebriated mind that it's weird that she'd have men's clothes.

“Are you married?” he asks all of a sudden.

She blinks at him. “Am I married?”

“Are you?”

“What kind of question is that?"

"You have men's clothes."

Caroline rolls her eyes at him - or at least he thinks she does. "Yes, because that's obviously the only possible conclusion." She hands him the sweatpants. "They were my ex's. I guess he didn't care enough to take it with him when we broke up."

"Oh."

"I think you two are roughly the same size, so it should fit."

For some reason, the information doesn’t go down well. He'll very much enjoy making a point of rubbing himself all over clothes that belonged to a man who used to sleep with Caroline. Maybe she kept it for a reason, some memory attached to it, or maybe she still misses the twat, whoever he is. From now on, when she looks at those sweatpants, she'll remember Klaus. That kind of absurd logic will certainly not hold once morning and sobriety take over, but the rational side of his brain is pretty much done for the evening.

"Do you want a shirt too? I can get you one of mine, I should have a large enough one somewhere."

"No, it's fine."

Caroline regards his pathetic figure, slumped back against her couch in an uncomfortable position, still breathing raggedly from the effort of removing a bloody shoe. "Come here," she says, taking pity. "I'll help you with the difficult part."

Klaus sits up as straight as he can and holds his breath in when he feels her fingers digging into his sides to pull his shirt out of his pants. He can't really feel anything other the scent of alcohol exhaling from himself, but Caroline is warm, so warm... And her skin looks so soft. He wants to touch her face, rub the pad of his thumb across her bottom lip, and then he wants to taste it. She looks like she tastes like strawberries. Or maybe coffee. Maybe like Klaus. 

"What?" she asks, and he realizes he'd been giggling.

"Nothing. Just remembered something Kol said."

“I’m not sure I want to know.”

She takes off his skewered tie and proceeds to undo the buttons on his shirt one by one. Her eyes linger on his chest, on the tattoo he almost forgot he has there. "I didn't peg you as a tattoo type," she says, and he thinks the smile now is definitely, definitely amused.

"Just a couple."

"You have another one?"

"Hm. On my back."

"I like this one," she says, the tips of her fingers ghosting over the feather, then following the lines of birds. She doesn't quite touch, but he can feel it anyway. It sends a jolt of electricity coursing through his body. All of a sudden, the room is ten degrees hotter than it was a moment ago.

He doesn't trust himself to open his mouth and not say something incredibly inappropriate, so he keeps his lips tightly closed instead. When she finally moves away, putting a decent space between them, Klaus lets go of that breath, but it winds out sounding like a disappointed sigh.

"Do you need help with your pants too?" she asks, arching her eyebrows in a manner that implies Are you really that useless?

He leers, going for a wolfish smile but probably falling short. "Are you trying to get in my pants, Miss Forbes?"

"Do you actually think that ego of yours is an attractive feature?" She sounds derisive, but her smile says otherwise.

"As a matter of fact, yes. You'd be surprised by how many women find me charming."

"I'm sure I'd be blown away."

"And to answer your question - I will 100% sleep with you -"

"Funny, I don't remember asking that."

"But I'd rather not do it now, if it's all the same to you."

"Oh, it is very much all the same to me."

"I'm afraid I'm not in my best senses at the moment."

"You don't say."

"I would like to be 100% sober for that."

"Am I supposed to be flattered?"

"There aren't that many things I'd rather be sober for. You deserve my undivided, unadulterated attention."

"Wow, I am touched."

"You're special, love."

Well, so much for not wanting to be inappropriate.

He can't quite see it, but he thinks she's smiling again. Or something. "Well, that might be the sweetest douchebaggy thing I've ever heard."

"I forget you don't like the pet names."

"The pet name is the least of your problems, Klaus."

"So you don't mind me calling you love anymore?"

"Can I tell you a secret?" Klaus nods a bit too eagerly, sending his head spinning. "I don't mind if it's you."

Now it's his turn to smile, a strange warm feeling spreading inside of him. "I'll keep your secret, sweetheart."

"I appreciate it. Now - can you take off your own pants or are you gonna fall on your head trying?"

"I can manage."

"Good. I'll get you some pillows and a blanket. Scream if you get in trouble."

It takes him what feels like an eternity to get out of the bloody pants and into the sweats. She was right, it's exactly his size. He wonders what this ex-boyfriend of hers was like. If he was dark and broody, or a ray of sunshine like her. He doubts he was a lawyer. Caroline doesn't look like someone who would welcome that kind of sodden creature into her bedroom.

The room feels a bit chilly, but he lies back and rests his eyes for just a moment, just to catch his breath, get his bloody heart to stop beating so fast. When he opens his eyes again, however, the living room is bathed in sunlight.

He rolls onto his side and buries his face on a pillow that he doesn't remember being there when he dozed off. Coming to think of it, the blanket wasn't there either. And neither was the pounding in his skull. His previous night comes back with a vengeance, and Klaus grunts loudly, his mouth dry as a desert. It tastes like something died on his tongue. After a moment cursing himself inwardly, he finally dares to turn around and face the day.

Last night he was in no sound condition to take anything in, and he’s not much better now, but he can at least see straight. Caroline's living room is rather lovely. Colorful, but not too much. Light wooden furniture, potted plants near the window, a cozy chair that looks incredibly inviting under a large lamp with a pile of books on the floor beside it. Jane Austen, the Brontes, Louisa May Alcott, but also Dickens, Fitzgerald, Tolstoy. A taste for classics, all looking rather worn off from too many reads. 

None of those books would rank among his favorites, just as the place looks nothing like his own. He’s ready to admit he is a snob, after all. Used to reading Camus, Kerouac, Capote, Foster Wallace, back when he had time for that. But this place and these books scream of Caroline. Klaus cannot help but adore it in the exact same measure he adores art and music and the view of the French Quarter across the river at night from his loft windows: like it's just inevitable.

He pulls himself into a sitting position, grinding his teeth against the ache in his head. "Caroline?" he calls out, but the apartment remains perfectly quiet. Klaus pats his pants searching for his phone before he remembers he changed into sweats. He searches for a bit and finds his clothes carefully folded on the back of a chair. He fishes his phone out of his pocket, his battery begging for relief at 2%, 15 unanswered calls and more text messages than he can bother checking. Elijah's name jumps to the eye.

It's half past nine. He's at least an hour late for work.

"Fucking hell," he curses under his breath.

As he scrambles around to get dressed, fighting with the sudden bout of nausea that rakes over him, he finally sees a little note on the corner table, next to a glass of water and two white pills.

Had to leave for work but didn't want to wake you up. You looked like you needed the sleep! I hope you don't get in trouble. Left you a towel and a new toothbrush in the bathroom. You can help yourself in the kitchen — there's coffee and bread, peanut butter and jam in the fridge — or come see me at the café and I'll make you something nice. :) XX - C

Despite feeling like something awful is about to hatch inside of him, Klaus has a silly smile on his face when he takes the pills. And the silly smile is still there when he heads into work wearing yesterday's clothes. 

"Somebody had a fun night," Kol sneers as he pokes his head inside Klaus' office. "You look like proper garbage, brother. I'm so proud of you. Well done!"

It's Thursday night and Klaus is counting his blessings that he's able to pack up and go home before 8. He still has plenty of work to do, but at least he'll be able to do it from the comfort of his bed. These days, if you're not grateful for the small victories, you have absolutely nothing to be grateful for.

Klaus has an important meeting with his clients, who are flying in from Pennsylvania in a couple of weeks. Many major points are expected to be decided by then. In a perfect world, he'd have the final version of the contract approved to be sent to all the parties for inspection. Too bad Klaus is too much of a skeptical bastard to believe in such miracles. If he walks out of that meeting with a first draft and minor modifications to make it'll be progress. Mergers such as this take time and patience, two things Klaus only disposes of in very small doses. Maybe that's exactly why Mikael put him in charge, hoping to see his little bastard either bang his head against the wall in despair or get arrested for assaulting one of the clients.

He should head straight to his car and make his way across town as fast as possible so he can have a shower and make himself a grilled cheese before he gets back to work. Instead, he walks out through the front door of the building and heads to the café to grab a lighter fix for the evening. Elijah has been sending him subtle links to scientific studies basically stating that he'll drop dead from liver failure before the end of the year. Klaus' replies to his brother's passive-aggressive messages have been either "I'll take liver failure over Mikael ripping off my intestines with his bare hands, thank you" ("That's absurd, Niklaus. He would definitely use a hunting knife") or "STOP SENDING KOL TO SPY ON ME" ("Does it ever occur to you that sometimes, when people keep their eyes on you, it simply means they care?"). He hasn't thought of a good comeback to that last one yet, but he figures he might at least indulge Elijah a little bit and reduce the amount of caffeine after 5 o'clock.

When he gets there, despite the fact he still has solid ten minutes before the closing time, he finds the closed sign on the door already turned. Except he can see Caroline and Enzo inside and they're... Dancing?

Klaus stops, his thoughts derailing a little. He can't hear the song blasting inside, but it hardly makes a difference. The way Caroline moves around, with her eyes closed, flipping her hair, working her hips and her arms as she goes, it just — it is music. And it leaves him a little windless. He had this picture of Caroline Forbes as an ethereal being of light, but the way she drags herself up and down to the beat is just sinful, and Klaus — well, he thinks he likes her even more now, if that's possible.

His throat moves slowly as he swallows, his mouth suddenly dry. He doesn’t want to interrupt, but he also wants to get in there. The door is locked, though. He knocks on the glass a few times, then stronger, and stronger still, until Enzo finally spots him there. He pokes Caroline, pointing to the door. Klaus waves at her and Caroline opens her arms in the air, big smile plastered on her face. He can’t hear her but he can read his name on her lips. Enzo lets him in.

"Hey, there, mate! Just in time!"

Klaus frowns at his enthusiastic greeting; he must’ve been drinking. "Time for what, exactly?"

Enzo gives him a look of reproach. "You don't know? I'm disappointed in you, Nicholas."

"Enzo!" Caroline slurs, and Klaus is certain they’ve had a few. "Don't be stupid. He doesn't have to know, I never told him."

"Never told me what?"

"It's gorgeous' birthday, you lazy git. Can't believe you didn't know that."

Klaus' eyes widen at Caroline. She just shrugs. "I'm so sorry."

"Don't. How would you know?"

"He could've asked, like a normal -"

"Enzo!" Caroline shushes him, turning back to Klaus. "It's fine. I'm glad you're here. We have cake!" She points to an already cut cake behind her. "Dark chocolate with vanilla frosting. Enzo made it."

"Excuse me - I nailed it."

Caroline chuckles, beckoning Klaus to approach. "Come on! Have some cake. Do you want a drink? We're having tequila, but I can mix you a mean Irish."

Klaus feels oddly inadequate. Caroline is doing her best to make him feel like a part of the celebration, but he just... Doesn't. He was there this morning, talked to her for twenty whole minutes and he had no idea it was her birthday. He's not psychic, but Enzo's not wrong; he could've just asked, just as she's asked so much about him already.

"My apologies, love," he says quietly. "Happy birthday."

"Thank you! Now, tequila or drinks?"

"I... I can't stay."

"Oh." The smile sort of melts off her face.

"I have work and... I was actually just going to grab something to take home."

"Oh. Ok. Well, I can make you -"

"No, please." He holds Caroline's hands to keep her from moving away. "It's your birthday."

"Klaus," she says in the softest of voices, looking straight into his eyes. It's hard to define what that look does to him. "You're not a customer, you’re my friend. I don't mind making you a drink on my birthday."

Friend.

His heart drops in his chest.

He leans in, placing a quick kiss on her cheek. "Happy birthday, Caroline," he says, and then he bolts out the door.

Klaus had two hours of sleep the night before, and only some of that is because of his work. He was in such a state of mind that he actually managed to slash through everything he had to finish rather efficiently. Except after that, even without a single drop of coffee, he still couldn't sleep.

Friend. Caroline called him a friend.

He doesn't know what exactly he was expecting, or why that word made him so uncomfortable all of a sudden. What else was she going to call him? He should be grateful she even holds him in such regard, because he's a bloody lousy friend. He didn't even know it was her birthday. It's a testament to her good heart and kind disposition that she sees him as a friend. Klaus hasn't acted as more than a regular client, like so many others she has. Maybe Caroline considers all of them to be friends. Maybe she would even call Elijah a friend.

Why does that word weights so heavily on him? Why should it bother him so?

When he couldn't stop tossing and turning in bed with all those godawful thoughts rattling away in his subconscious, Klaus got up and went to his studio. He wasn't sure what he wanted to do until he sat down with his sketchbook and a pencil and started drawing. It was mindless exercise, trying to blow off some steam, but before he knew it, he was staring down at the fine lines of Caroline's face.

There aren't many things in this world Klaus would claim to truly excel at. One of the few exceptions is his art. He's a rather accomplished artist. Klaus has experimented with almost everything, dabbling in several styles and themes, but what he has always been truly passionate about is drawing people. See, it's ironic, because he hates people, but that's where the true beauty of it lies. People are frustrating and infuriating and impossible to control, but when he puts them down on paper, they're just his. He finds it the best way to understand someone is to draw them. It's when he catches the things about them that stand out, his way of translating how he feels and sees them. It makes sense out of thoughts and emotions and impressions that are often too complex for Klaus’ short-tempered head to process. Probably why he prefers people who actually intrigue or amuse him as his subjects. People who mean something. 

Growing up, he used to draw his siblings all the time. Sit in a corner of the house, hidden from prying eyes, and sketch them when they didn't know they were being observed. Elijah and Kol, of course, but most of all Rebekah. It was a challenge to capture the movement of her long hair, how expressive and open she was. Elijah's stoicism and Kol's cheekiness demanded far less refined skills.

He knew from a very young age that he'd want to go to art school. Mikael, of course, didn't even want to hear it. That was maybe one of the most life-changing conversations he’s ever had and it lasted less than five minutes.

"How do you intend to pay for art school?" Mikael asked. "In fact — how do you propose you'll ever be able to attend school at all when you'll have to work to earn a living? Assuming you don't want to sleep on the streets, of course. You may be the son of a lowlife contractor, but it is my name you carry and I will not allow you to disgrace it with your art. You can either do as your brothers and try to prove yourself worthy of the roof over your head and the food I put on your plate, or you know exactly where the door is."

As a sixteen-year-old, there wasn't much he could do. The idea of being on his own, of losing Elijah, Rebekah and Kol, scared him more than Mikael's hatred. That he’d already grown accustomed to.

His talents were reduced to a mere hobby. Last night, however, it helped him to come up with a gift for Caroline. He thought long and hard on what to get her, many ideas springing to mind — a bracelet? a dress? a state-of-the-art espresso machine? None of it felt original or special enough. He decided, then, to give her a little view into his own mind, into how he sees her.

Gifting someone with something you've made, however, always comes with a risk. It's neither something she needs nor something she's knowingly fond of, and there's a degree of presumption in expecting it to be liked as one would a dress or a jewelry. It's just a drawing. By the time he gets to the café the next morning, Klaus has already begun to question his choices. Maybe he should've bought the bracelet, after all.

He hesitates outside, looking at the velvety box with a silk ribbon on top.

Well, sod it. He's already here, anyway. If she hates it, at least he’ll learn something. Next time he’ll get something with a bloody diamond on it.

Enzo is alone behind the counter, eyes closed, swaying on his feet. When the bell above the door rings, his whole face scrunches up in pain before he opens his eyes, letting out a deep, exhausted sigh as he fixes them on Klaus.

"Rough night, mate?" he asks.

"Shut up,” Enzo grumbles moodily. “Gorgeous!" he winces at his own shouting.

Caroline stumbles out of the kitchen, looking just as hungover as him. It's the first time Klaus has seen her looking anything other than well-rested and energetic. "Hi," she says lowly, affecting a little smile that probably costs her something. "I didn't think I'd see you this morning."

"Why not?"

"I don't know, the way you left last night..." She trails off, giving him a look from under her heavy lashes.

Klaus feels a twinge of guilt at how completely rude his hasty exit must've seemed, but he offers her a smile anyway, trying to keep the embarrassment off his face. "I really did have a lot of work."

She shrugs in a can’t be helped way. "Klaus as usual?"

"Always."

"Right up."

He shuffles awkwardly on his feet while he waits for her to prepare his coffee, twisting his hands around the velvet case.

"There you go," she says, handing him the cup.

"You should take an Advil," Klaus suggests.

"Yes, because no one's thought of that yet, genius," Enzo snaps from the register.

"Lorenzo sounds an awful lot like me this morning. I do not appreciate it."

Caroline shakes her head once, then scrunches up her nose in regret. "Just ignore him." There's a pause, and she eyes him with a certain anticipation, expecting him to fill in the blank space. When he doesn't, she just grins shortly again. "Well, have a good day, then."

"Uhm, before I go," he blurts out, putting the case on the counter.

Caroline looks down at it, then up at him, lips parted in surprise. "Is this...?"

"Just a little something. For your birthday, I mean. I'm sorry I didn't know."

"Klaus, you didn't have to -"

"I wanted to."

The smile that graces her face then makes the two miserable hours of sleep he had feel 100% worth it. "Thank you," she says.

For a heartbeat, neither of them moves, and then Klaus realizes he does not want to be here when she sees the gift. If she likes it or if she doesn't, he'd rather find out some other time. He doesn't think he can stomach it if she hates it.

"I hope you like it," he says, already turning around and dashing for the door.

"Klaus," she calls out.

"Enjoy your day, Caroline. And shove another Advil down that dimwit’s throat." With that, he's gone.

Klaus presses his fingers to his eyelids, trying to will away a headache he can feel brewing in the depths of his skull.

Someone clears their throat by the door, and he sighs without even looking. "Sod off."

"I'm sorry, I didn't - I'm just gonna go."

Klaus startles at the sound of Caroline's voice, his head snapping up like thunder, already cursing himself inwardly. Lately it seems like he can’t get anything right around her.

"Caroline." She stops, turns around with an awkward grin on her face. "Forgive me,” he says. “I thought you were someone else."

"I can come back some other time. Or, you know... I'll see you tomorrow."

"No." He pushes back from his desk, standing to his feet. His legs feel stiff after hours in the same position. "Please. Come in."

Caroline hesitates, shuffling a little by the door before finally taking a timid step in. She brought a paper bag and a coffee cup with her. "Is this totally inappropriate? I was waiting downstairs, I guess the security guy thought I was too skeevy because I didn't even know where you work." 

“Sorry about that. We’ve had some incidents in the past with visitors.”

“What kind of incident?”

“Bad divorces, nasty guardianship fights, people getting scraped off wills, that sort of thing.”

“That sounds fun.”

“Never a boring day in Family Law.”

She half-chuckles, shaking her head. "Anyway. Your brother let me in."

"My brother?"

"Kol."

Klaus arches his eyebrows. His little brother doesn't miss a trick; he'll likely use this to taunt the living daylight out of Klaus, but... For once, it'll be worth it.

"I'm sorry, this is totally weird, right? I mean, this is your work place — God, what am I doing? I'll just -"

"Caroline," he stops her, gesturing towards the couch across the room. "I set up camp at your work place all the time.”

“I have a café, Klaus. You’re expected to do that.”

“Not the point. Trust me, your visit has been the most pleasant thing that's happened to me all day. All week, to be honest. Take a seat."

"Alright," she concedes, sinking down on his couch. She seems oddly nervous, intimidated by the environment. Straight posture, fingers tapping lightly on her knees. He doesn't blame her; Mikaelson & Sons does have a ghastly atmosphere. Caroline is like a little spot of light in a sea of shadows. "This is a nice office," she says, looking around. 

"Don't be fooled, love," he says with a crooked grin, taking a seat on a chair across from her. "This is a slaughterhouse dressed like a daydream,” he says simply, not really wanting to waste perfectly good time in her company discussing his love/hate ties with corporate law. “I'm sorry for my rudeness before. I thought it was Kol or one of my useless assistants. I'm not used to having... people, over here."

"What do you normally have over, then?"

"Lawyers. We're a bit more like beasts." Caroline laughs, clearly amused by his dark humor. She has no idea how true that is. "What is it that you have there?" he bobs his head towards the paper bag in her hand.

“Cake!" she waves the bag a little in the air before putting it down on the coffee table separating them. "You didn’t have any yesterday, it’s really good. And this is a latte. Salted caramel whipped cream, apricot syrup — one espresso shot only. It's too late for more."

Klaus' lips twist into a smile. "Have you been talking much to Elijah lately? You sound exactly like him.”

"Elijah is a very reasonable man."

"Don't ever tell him that, it'll go straight to his head." Klaus goes for the coffee first, taking a long sip. It's not his quadruple shot Klaus, but it's as good as anything Caroline comes up with. Even the slight punch of caffeine in his veins is enough to make him relax, his tight muscles suddenly loosening. It makes him wonder if the magic is in the coffee at all, or if it's been something else all along. "Not that I'm complaining — thank you, by the way — but... Why are you here?"

Her grin falters as she puts a hand into her purse and pulls out the little velvet case he gave her this morning, settling it down on the table.

"Did you draw this?" she asks.

His eyes cut from the case to her. "Yes."

"Really? With your own hands?"

"Well, my style requires that I use more of my feet." She frowns, Klaus chuckles. "Yes, with my hands. My right hand, in fact. It's just a silly thing."

"Silly thing?" Caroline parrots with a hint of indignation. "Klaus, this is... I can't... I mean, I don't... Is this really how you see me?"

"Is that a trick question?"

"That's not what I mean." Caroline sighs, her face pinching in frustration as she fumbles for the right words. "I just can't... I mean, I look... On that drawing, I am... Beautiful. Like... A muse, or something. Full of -"

"Light," he offers.

Caroline grins coyly. "I don't think I've ever seen myself that way."

"You don't think you're beautiful?"

"I don't know. Not like this. It’s… Different."

"Caroline," Klaus says solemnly. He leans forward on his seat, putting the coffee cup down and looking her dead in the eye. "That drawing does not make you justice. It does not capture your essence. It's... A mere representation, a humble one, of something I’m afraid I’m not talented enough to translate into a drawing. You are strong. Full of light. You radiate energy and life. And you are... The most beautiful young woman I have ever met."

The look Caroline gives him sends something otherworldly thrumming through him, her eyes burning into his with an emotion he cannot name, wouldn't dare to. The line of her lips becomes strained, though, as though she's trying to hold something back. All of a sudden, her eyes shine brighter under the low light, and he realizes...

"You're... Why are you crying?" he asks, confused and verging on exasperation.

"I'm not," she says, wiping away her tears and busying herself with putting the case away in her bag.

"Caroline -"

"I'm being stupid."

"Why are you crying?" he asks again, more emphatically.

"Because I'm happy."

She forces a big smile onto her face; it does not meet the pain in her eyes. Klaus feels a stab of guilt, even if he can't tell what he did wrong. 

"You don't look happy, love."

"I really am. I loved the gift. I came here to say thank you."

"You don't have to thank me."

"Of course I do. And now I have to go." Caroline springs up, adjusting her bag on her shoulder. Klaus jumps up with her, flailing for something to say.

"Please, don't -"

"You're busy, I should leave you to your work."

"Caroline."

"Klaus." She gives him a look that is a quiet plea for him to stop. He obliges, his shoulders dropping in defeat. It's safe to say this is not how he expected this to go. He considered the possibility that she might not like the gift, but that it would make her cry? 

Caroline walks around the coffee table and, in one swift movement, pulls him into a hug. Almost instantly, Klaus' arms are tight around her waist. He buries his face in her hair, breathing her in. She smells faintly like ground coffee beans and something lighter, sweeter. Vanilla or apricots or summer days under the sun, getting lost in the orchard the villa when he was a child. 

His heart hammers away behind his ribcage, boom, boom, boom, and for a moment he's worried she might feel it, might notice just how worked up and anxious he is just being this close to her, just feeling her body pressed flush against his. For one brilliant, perfect moment, the world stops moving, the clock stops ticking, and everything goes quiet. They're shrouded by this sense of peace, of completion, and for the first time in ages, Klaus feels sound. Balanced. Moving away from the abyss rather than plunging into it headfirst. He's almost afraid of thinking it, of allowing himself to feel it; it's too much like tempting fate.

He has to force himself not to cry out in denial when she pulls away.

"Thank you for the drawing," she says in a small voice. "It's the most amazing thing anyone’s ever given me."

Klaus raises a hand to her face, cupping her cheek, the tips of his fingers brushing lightly against her skin. Caroline's breath catches, tension knotting her muscles, but she eases into his touch almost like she can't avoid it.

His eyes fall on the curve of her lips, desire exploding inside of him like fireworks. Air shimmers around them like steam, and Klaus realizes the depth of his want, just how strong and how powerful the badly-concealed feelings he's harboring for that woman for months now run. And yet... The space between them feels strangely tender.

Klaus leans in to kiss her, to try and make this bruise go away, but Caroline jerks out of his grasp as though she'd been burned.

"Good night, Klaus," she says, rushing out the door.

Here's the thing. Klaus is not a patient man. He makes it his life's mission to always cut to the chase. Be it in business or in his admittedly barren personal life, he can be blunt to the point of rudeness. The few times he's been out over the past year and a half, trying to wind down and blow off some steam in a more physical manner, he eyed something he liked and he went for the kill. Nine times out of ten, it works. He's not without charm, even if exhaustion and boredom occasionally get the best of him.

With Caroline, however, things are different.

Of course he's been attracted to her right off the start. He doesn't just want to watch her from across a counter and think of her as some kind of unattainable muse. He wants to touch her, to feel her, to taste those glorious lips of hers, map out all of the valleys and the plains of her body. She is a beautiful, intoxicating woman and he is only a man. But something about her has always given him pause, made him extremely cautious.

He thought maybe it was because if they slept together and it went sour, as it most often did, then he would have to stop showing his face at Mystic Café and settle for subpar coffee again. Or maybe it was because they'd become something like friends before anything truly happened, thus rendering a more direct approach to an involvement of a different sort dangerous and decidedly more awkward. They'd have something to lose, after all. Something more than just great coffee.

Or maybe it was just that he liked her, truly liked her, and didn't want to screw things up. Maybe he'd rather have her at a distance than not have her at all. Maybe he didn't want to taint all that goodness and that light with his rotten anti-Midas touch.

When he saw her dashing out of his office, however, Klaus realized that what he'd been most afraid of all along was that exact scene. The sight of Caroline turning away from him. It crushed his heart.

The realization of his feelings for her came to him like shooting a boomerang into the distance, watching it fly away, turn back and still get hit on the head by it. He denied it for as long as he could, willed it away, tried to suffocate it into extinction. But it was too strong, stronger even than Klaus' carefully manufactured veneer of indifference. Every time he tried to deceive one of his siblings, or even himself, he'd feel this stab inside of him, this thing that just refused to go away and wanted to remind him it was there, resisting, surviving.

He was fairly certain Caroline felt, if not the same, then something very close. Fairly certain that she wouldn't push him away if he made the first move. And last night... The way she looked at him, how she held him... He may be out of practice, maybe even rushing into things, but he can't have misunderstood it so badly. Not with how long they’ve waited. And yet, she still ran away from him.

Klaus drives himself sick with possibilities all night long. When he dozes off for a couple of hours, he worries all through his turbulent sleep. When his alarm goes off, the tightness in his chest hasn't eased off. By the time he gets to Mystic Café, he's beyond being just worried, he's actually nervous. Racing heart, sweaty palms, shifting on his feet nervous.

Klaus is never nervous. He doesn't know how to cope.

It only gets worse when he finds a sleep-ridden Enzo behind the counter instead of her.

"Morning," Enzo grumbles, but when he lifts his head and sees it's him, his eyes flash. "Oh."

"Where's Caroline?"

"She'll be in later," he replies curtly.

"Why?"

"I don't question my boss. What do you want?"

"Is she sick?"

Enzo blows out an annoyed breath. "What part of I don't know does your thick head not grasp?"

“Why don’t you go fuck yourself?" Klaus snaps. It can't be a coincidence that Enzo's disposition towards him, never great to begin with, has gone south around the same time Caroline has become extremely awkward. The difference is Klaus does not hold him in the same esteem he holds her, so he doesn't get the same polite treatment. 

"You wanna say that again, mate?" Enzo grits out, jaw clenched tight.

"Gladly: fuck. you. Once more, with feeling?” Enzo’s glare goes positively murderous. “I'm not feeling very charitable this morning and you're not helping. I just want to know that Caroline is all right."

Enzo regards him for a moment with an impassive expression. "I don't know that she's all right," he speaks in a slow, clipped tone, voice drenched in condescension. "The call was brief and my brain was still asleep. I sure hope that she is, because I know for a fact that she went to see you last night. I also don't care what kind of mood you're in, and I have work to do. So you can either place your order or leave." And then, after a pause, he adds. "And you’re paying, arsehole."

Klaus begrudgingly buys coffee from Enzo because he very much needs it, the pounding in his head having started earlier today. It's not the same as Caroline's, not by a mile, but it's close enough that Klaus can at least swallow his pride and still pay for it. Not without hissing a very petty, "Have a nice day, wanker," before walking out.

It's the most unproductive day Klaus has had at work in ages and he feels like a sore loafer by the time night falls. His attempts to distract himself with contracts and precedents and unnerving e-mail exchanges fail miserably. All through meetings and calls and Kol parading in and out of his office with a string of outrageous and mildly insulting provocations, he's thinking about Caroline.

So when 7 o'clock comes, he throws in the towel. He'll get nothing done today. He packs his laptop, puts on his coat and heads outside, determined strides taking him to Mystic Café in a heartbeat. It's a wonder he has a clear mind at all considering all he's had to get him through the afternoon were a couple of doses of Joshua's poisonous instant coffee. It kept him going, but only barely.

Caroline is holding a tray under her arm, immerse in conversation with two girls, customers who are as regular as Klaus but whose names he could never bother learning. She looks perfectly at ease, as healthy as ever. When she finally spots him, her smile turns bitter, her whole laid-back posture hardening all of a sudden. It hits Klaus like a punch to the gut, and he feels his own resolve faltering.

Not like he didn’t already know, but seeing confirmation just makes it all the worst. He is the problem.

"Hi," she says shortly. Instead of walking to him, as she normally would, she takes her place behind the counter. A barista and her customer, with an invisible wall of professionalism rising in the space between them. "You want a latte? You know I won't sell you anything with four shots of -"

"I need to talk to you," he blurts out. “If you have a minute.”

Caroline lets out a defeated sigh, like she'd been hoping to avoid conversation. "Yeah, ok. Sure." She beckons him to follow her towards the kitchen and pokes Enzo's shoulder as she breezes by him. "Can you watch things for a bit?"

Enzo's mouth twists when he sees Klaus right behind her. "What is that -"

"Don't start," she cuts off his protest, pushing the door open and motioning for Klaus to go in first. He sends the other man a withering look before he does. "Just watch the place, I'll be right back."

"What was that about?" Klaus asks when the door closes behind her and it's just them in the kitchen.

Caroline merely shrugs, immediately going about the place like she has something to do there, looking through cupboards, taking out ingredients and putting it on the stainless steel isle in the middle of the room. "It was nothing."

"He's been acting like a right twat. What's his issue with me?"

"Don't mind Enzo, he's being an idiot." She takes out a bag of flour, casts him a quick glance and then keeps moving. "So. You wanted to talk?"

"What are you doing?"

"Checking that I have everything I need for tomorrow morning's batch of blueberry muffins and banana bread. I'm listening."

Klaus puts down his briefcase, draws in a long breath, squaring his shoulders. "Things were... Awkward, last night. I just wanted to - can you not do this right now?" he snaps when Caroline starts banging pots.

She purses her lips apologetically, puts down the pans and walks closer, though still leaving a distance between them that makes Klaus' skin crawl. "Sorry," she says.

He sighs. "What's going on?"

"I don't know what you -"

"Caroline," he cuts her off, but his voice is soft, almost pleading.

She looks at him, and what he sees there is something he was yet to see in Caroline: sadness. "We can't do this anymore, Klaus.”

"Do what?"

"This," she motions her hand between them. "Us. The... Klaroline thing."

Klaus' eyebrows crinkle. "Klaroline?"

"It's how people call us."

"Who's people?"

"Some customers. The regulars. They see you here all the time, they see us talking, they see your name on the meu..." She trails off, shrugs. "They came up with a name. I heard there's a bet going around."

"What kind of bet?" She gives him a pointed look. Oh, he thinks. Oh. People had been betting on when he - they - Jesus. "This wouldn't have been Kol's idea by any chance, would it?"

"Sounds right up his alley." Caroline smiles shortly, but it wanes fast. "We can't feed the gossip anymore. I can't, Klaus."

He takes a step forward. "Why not?"

"Because," she says, her voice rising an octave. "We've been beating about the bushes for months now."

"So let's not anymore."

"We can't," she says with an edge of finality that cuts right through him. "You're my friend and I want to stay friends, so we have to draw a line."

Klaus grunts. "There you go throwing that word about again," he growls.

"What's wrong with being friends?"

"I don't want to be just friends, Caroline! How is that not yet obvious to you?"

Something in her eyes steels, she cocks her head. "How do you propose we handle being more than just friends with you in New York?"

Her words are a blow to his chest, the weight of guilt sinking in. New York. He told her about the transfer that night at the bar. He told her in colorful detail how tirelessly he'd been working towards it, how desperate he is to get away from his father's merciless grip, how, for over a year now, the office at Park Avenue has become his sole obsession. Except... Except that's not true anymore, it hasn't been for a while, and he never... Crap.

"Is that what this has been all about?" he asks, his tone suddenly quieter again. "About New York?"

“It's about everything. About you and me and the things we want in life. All this time, we've been flirting or — whatever it is that we're doing — and I guess a part of me always thought that it was inevitable for us to just... Happen. It felt like a matter of when and not if. But I had no idea that the reason you've been working yourself haggard all along was because you were desperate to get the hell away from New Orleans." Her voice breaks off at the end, the same tears he saw last night threatening to overtake her again. And at last Klaus understands…

She wasn’t running from him because she didn’t want him. She ran because she didn’t think she could have him.

He wants to reach out to her, to take her in his arms and kiss away that pain that has no place inside of her. But he’s afraid she’ll run again. Afraid he won't be able to take it if she does.

"Caroline... You have to understand. I hate my life here, I hate my father. I've been pursuing this since long before I met you."

"I know. And it's precisely because I understand that we can't do this anymore. I can't pretend that I don't know that you want out, and I can't ask you to change your mind, change your plans, to endure a job that you hate just because of me. Friends don't get to make you choose." She swallows down hard, her lips trembling as her face pinches with heartbreak. "I like you too much, Klaus. One day, be it in a week, or a month, or a year, you're going to get your transfer and then you're going to break my heart. And I can't do this to myself." She stops, taking a shuddery breath as though bracing herself for her next words. "So you and your romantic drawings need to leave me alone."

Klaus feels all the heat drain out of his body. "You don't really mean that," he speaks weakly, an uncomfortable prickle behind his eyes.

"No... But I have to. My whole life I've only known how to handle things two ways. One is by being in control. The other is by letting go." She turns on her heels. "Don't come after me," she says right before disappearing through the back door into the darkened alley.

Klaus tries making his own coffee, but it's bland and tasteless and fills him with anguish rather than energy. He drinks Joshua's instant mix until it makes him want to die. He goes to a Starbucks and feels like he's losing a little bit more of what little heart he had left with each sip until he has to throw it away.

He didn't think it was possible to feel more miserable than he already did, didn't think there was any way he could sink lower than he already was. He was wrong. Now even good coffee breaks his heart. That's how pathetic he is.

He throws himself into work with the hunger of a thousand beasts. He sleeps little, often times simply forgets to go home. Good thing Elijah keeps clean shirts and socks as well as an impressive array of ties at the office for emergencies. His dry-cleaning bill will go up by a couple hundreds with how often Klaus has been helping himself to his clothes. But while everything else falls apart, work soars. 

Klaus makes more progress in a week and a half than he had for the past two months. The combination between bad temper and thin patience is a winning one, it seems. If only he'd realized sooner that talking loudly and being rude would make his life easier... Would've spared him the tedium of forcing an Elijah-esque politeness he simply does not possess.

In the end, however, all that matters are billable hours and closed deals. That is what will set him free, if it doesn't drive him off the edge first. It's like dancing on the sharp end of a knife, but it's the only way to salvation. If the process ends up costing him a little bit more of his soul, then so be it. 

It's a Wednesday, or maybe it's still Tuesday, he's not sure, he's never sure anymore, and he's pulling yet another late night when there's a soft knock on his door. Klaus looks up from the papers scattered in front of him.

"Do you have a minute?" Elijah asks.

"Not really," he replies, checking his watch for the first time in hours. It's past 10 already and he wasn't even considering leaving yet. With a tired sigh, Klaus drops his pen and scrubs a hand over his face, leaning back on his chair. "You knocked," he says, motioning for Elijah to come in. "Must be serious."

His brother shuts the door behind him before easing himself onto the seat across from Klaus with the same elegance he does just about everything. He and Elijah couldn’t be any more different if they tried. His brother moves through life with the grace of a stag; Klaus constantly feels as though he's stumbling his way around like a blind boar in the middle of a hunt, merely trying to keep up.

"You're wearing my shirt," Elijah remarks drily, his eyes raking disapprovingly over Klaus' disheveled appearance. "And not flatteringly, mind you."

"Yeah? What are you gonna do? Sue me?"

“When was the last time you went home, Niklaus?"

"If that's what you wanted to talk about, I resent letting you in."

"This might come as a surprise to you, but I find it I don't have much control over how I feel seeing you run yourself into the ground."

"Well, whatever tickles your fancy, brother," he retorts with a dismissive shrug, reaching out for his mug and downing the rest of the instant coffee that had been sitting there for hours. It's ice cold and disgusting, but only mildly worse than when it was still hot. "What did you want to talk about?"

Elijah stares at him with that prodding, deep gaze of his. "I wanted you to know before the official announcement tomorrow," he starts, unusually cautious. "Mikael has appointed me to run the New York branch."

Klaus goes eerily quiet, sinking further back into his seat. He feels as though something lifts off of him - a weight, an expectation, the fractured pieces of his soul, he can't tell.

Elijah lets the silence spool out between them, patiently waiting for a reaction.

"Ah," he says, dispirited, after a long pause. "I suppose we both knew I never really had a chance. Congratulations are in order, then."

"You don't have to pretend you're happy for me, I don't blame you."

"I am happy for you, Elijah. You get to walk away from here, and I could wish you nothing more. The fact I'm disappointed for myself is entirely unrelated to your success." Klaus lets out a bark of laughter, it scratches his throat. "I don't know why I ever thought Mikael would set me free. He enjoys it far too much having me under his shoe like an old piece of gum."

Elijah sighs. "Niklaus... Why are you still here?"

“I have work to do.”

"Not here, tonight. I mean here, at the firm. At Mikaelson & Sons."

"I may not be his biological son but I still carry all the damage only having him as a father could cause. I have earned the right to count myself among the sons."

"That is not at all what I said and you know that."

Klaus gives the question a real thought. It's a disquieting exercise, one he's avoided for - well, basically, his whole life. He'd rather keep the can of worms lidded if he can help. Truth can be often terribly inconvenient. 

"It's what I've always set out to do," he says at last. "It's all I know how. What else would I do?"

"Anything else. Whatever you want. Something that gives you pleasure, that puts a sparkle in your eyes. Something you're passionate about. Don't get me wrong, brother, you're fantastic at your job."

"Mikael -"

"Is a sadistic lunatic, and I would still argue that even he knows how great you are at what you do. He wouldn’t have kept you here if you weren’t, would take immense pleasure in removing you altogether. You're brutally relentless, brother, ruthless in the pursuit of your goals, more so to yourself than to anyone else. It makes you a great lawyer at the same time it makes you miserable."

Klaus looks down at his desk, at all the highlighted lines he'd already read, all the ones still to read. "It's everything I have," he says with a pang. "This. You, Kol, Rebekah. You're everything I have."

"Now you’re just being daft," Elijah says, but the smile on his face is tender. "You'd always have us, wherever you went, whatever you chose to do. Well — you might be frowned upon if you decided to join organized crime, but you're a corporate lawyer, it's almost as bad as it can get. And we love you anyway."

Klaus' mouth curls upwards into the most honest smile he's been able to conjure in days. "Always and forever, huh?"

"You don't just weasel out of those vows." Elijah stands to his feet, giving him a considering look. "I conditioned my acceptance of the position in New York to getting free rein in deciding who I'd take with me. That includes you."

Klaus blinks slowly at him. "What?"

"If you really want to leave and if you're certain this is what you want to do, you can come with me. I'll make you head of corporate, give you a corner office. You'll be my second in command."

"Mikael agreed to that?"

"I didn't give him a choice. It was either that or finding someone else. The job is yours. But, brother... If I may give you an honest opinion... I don't think that will bring you the bliss you're looking for." A crooked smile plays around his lips. "For starters, I doubt you'll find as exquisite a coffee as Miss Forbes' in New York."

Right before his brother leaves, Klaus calls him back. "Are you really sleeping with your secretary?"

"Who told you that?"

"I have my sources." Klaus shakes his head at his older brother in mock reproach. "Have you conditioned your acceptance to taking your secretary to New York as well?"

Elijah gives him a mysterious grin, but it's a good-hearted one, such a rare open expression on his stoic figure. "Good night, Niklaus," he says. "Go home."

It's a Friday night — or so Rebekah tells him — and his sister drags him out of the office by the scruff of his neck. He has neither the energy nor the courage to fight her, even though the last thing he wants is to end up in a bar with Rebekah. She is as subtle as a rock to the head, and her persistence reeks of intervention. 

It was only a matter of time, he supposes. If not her, then Kol. His little brother would probably take him to a strip club, shove a bunch of dollar bills into his hand and make some completely deviant point about how much joy life can provide if only he looks at the right places — such as the bosom of a stripper. Rebekah prefers a more subdued approach: bar, drinks, straight-out scolding. Elijah is far too nurturing for interventions, tends to indulge his siblings' whims just for the sake of making them happy. Some deep-seated guilt over not having sheltered them enough from Mikael's hateful treatment as children and a need to occupy the position of caretaker, was Camille's unasked for diagnosis once she was finally introduced.  

"How do you even know this place?" he asks Rebekah, interrupting his own train of thought before it veers into dangerous territory.  

Klaus has been living in Algiers for years now and he'd never heard of St. James' Infirmary, an apparently rather traditional jazz club some ten minutes from his place. It says a lot about how much leisure time he's spent getting to know his own neighborhood. 

Rebekah stands out like a sore thumb there. Her successful TV show persona and Californian tan doesn't match the preserved air of Prohibition days decay. It's more Klaus's scene, which he guesses is why she brought him here, to ply him with bourbon and good music in order to soften the barbed edges of his disposition. It's rather fantastic, indeed. If only he were in the mood to actually appreciate it.

"Kol brought me here once," she says, sipping from her martini. "It's kinda your jam, no?"

"It's kinda loud."

"It's a bar, Niklaus."

"Yes, well." He takes a long pull from his glass.

"You're back at your usual grumpy self, I see," she starts, slowly. "How's Caroline?"

"Oh, for goodness' sake," Klaus grunts.

"Don't pout, Nik. Every time someone asks you about her you make that face."

"And yet you're obstinate in your desire to not take a bloody hint."

"Because you only make it more obvious that you care about her when you're so clearly bothered."

"What is this, Rebekah? Fifth grade?"

"No, it's called family. You know, I actually went to her Café. She's... Bubbly. Smiles a lot. Her coffee is divine. She made me three questions and came up with something that is the absolute best thing I've ever had. I hate it."

"You hate it because it's too good?"

"I still haven't managed to find out what was in that thing! How am I supposed to live without it in LA?"

"That's good business."

"Yes, which means she's also smart. And nice. And, I don't know..." She gesticulates vaguely as she searches for the word. "Wholesome, or whatever. She's everything I hate in people, and yet I liked her."

Klaus looks down at his glass, his lips pulling into a sad grin. It figures, he thinks, that his picky, judgmental little sister who never liked any of the women he’s ever been involved with would like Caroline. It's like she's the sun and everyone just gets pulled into her orbit, even the sodden Mikaelsons.

"It's over.” He is hit with the ache of watching her walk away all over again. Saying it out loud gives it a new sense of finality, makes it more real, more gruesome. 

"What?"

"Caroline and I -"

"Klaroline."

Klaus looks up at her, eyes slitted. "So it was Kol."

"It was my idea, actually. Kol just spread the word. It's catchy."

Klaus shakes his head. "It's tasteless and juvenile." He pauses. "And over."

"How can something that hasn't even started be over?"

"She doesn't want to be with me."

His sister's eyes widen, her mouth opening is surprise before her face scrunches up in anger. "She rejected you?! That bitch!"

"No, Rebekah. It’s not - She just... Doesn't want to start a relationship with someone who desperately wants to get away from here."

His sister gives him a look like she thinks he's an idiot. "You told her about New York?" Klaus’ lips twist downwards. “For a smart person, you can be really stupid, can’t you? Did you also tell her that Elijah got the transfer, not you?"

"He offered me a job. Head of corporate."

"And you're going?" Rebekah asks with sheer disbelief.

"It's what I've always wanted," he counters, defensive.

"Bollocks! Do you think Mikael is ever going to stop tormenting you because you're in New York? It's still his firm."

"At least I'll be far away from him. He'll be Elijah's problem, not mine."

Rebekah knocks back the rest of her drink as though preparing herself for an argument. She puts her glass aside and rests her elbows on the table, leaning forward. "Nik," she starts, locking eyes with him. "You have to stop trying to impress that man. He doesn’t care. Mikael won't ever let you go. He's a sick, sick man. He'll find ways to mess with your life wherever you are for as long as you're still under his control."

"And what do you propose I do, then?"

"Quit! I've been wanting you to do that for ages!”

“This is quite something, isn’t? Suddenly everyone thinks I should quit. I wonder where the hell were those strong opinions two, five, ten bloody years ago. I certainly don’t recall you ever encouraging me to quit.”

“Because you were so determined I didn't have it in me to tell you. But I'd be a terrible sister if I don't voice out my concerns when you're about to make a huge mistake you won't ever be able to walk back from. Listen to me, Nik. You won't find happiness in New York.”

“Like you haven’t found it in California?” he counters defiantly.

“That’s different. I don’t work for father. He doesn’t control me at all. New York might be marginally better than here, but it won't be perfect. Your tremendous effort will not be rewarded. You don't just hate Mikael, you hate this firm, you hate what this family has put you through. So get away."

Klaus scoffs, taking his drink up to his lips to try and hide the disruptive panic he feels rising in his guts. "That's ridiculous, Rebekah."

"Is it, really? Why? Because you'd be cut out from the family’s funds? So bloody what? You have loads of money already. Mikael may hate your guts, but he pays you handsomely, and I'd be very surprised if you didn't accumulate a small fortune, given the pathetic excuse for a social life you've led for the past few years." His sister takes his hand, clasps it between her own. "You have your art, Nik. Go do that. Take some time off, a sabbatical, I don't know. And if you end up missing your job, God forbid, you can find something somewhere else. You're good at it. Elijah would write you stellar recommendation letters and blackmail everyone into hiring you." Rebekah smiles at him in a way that suggests she expected him to laugh at her joke. He doesn't, though. He barely moves. "You're scared, aren't you?"

"My whole life, I've wanted one thing and one thing only. To prove Mikael wrong and then leave him behind. For the past two years, New York was all there was on my horizon. It was excruciating, but it was straightforward. As long as I rowed hard and fast enough, I'd get there. All of a sudden, this barista comes in and..." Klaus snaps his mouth back shut, nostrils flaring. "I don't even recognize myself anymore."

Rebekah grins. "Well, that's kind of the good thing about her. You're still you, but in a... Less you way."

"I don't know that I can change."

"Of course you can, Nik. You're 32, for goodness' sake, you're not beyond redemption."

He looks up to meet his sister's eyes. "Caroline is... She's good, Rebekah. She's really good. She's strong and obstinate, but her drive isn’t maniacal like mine, it’s optimistic. Balanced. Being around her feels... Like coming up for air. Like... Sunshine after a storm. And I'm... A workaholic jerk with a bad temper and a dysfunctional family who doesn't know any better. I don't even know why she liked me in the first place."

"Just because your life hasn't been unicorns and rainbows, it doesn't mean you don't deserve a chance to make it better. You deserve to be happy, brother. Doesn't matter where or how, if you find something that brings you real joy, you owe it to yourself to give it a chance. And if it fails, you know you'll still have us, your annoying, dysfunctional siblings who love you even when you're a sore pain in our arses. Always and Forever, remember?" Rebekah smiles softly at him and Klaus finds himself returning it. "Can I give you one last piece of advice?"

"I have a feeling you'll do it anyway."

"I will, but at least I'm polite about it."

He chuckles. "Go ahead, then. Advise me."

"Love is easy, Nik. You can find it in every corner. You can have a different love every week, if you want. You're gorgeous, you're rich, that nasty mouth of yours can talk its way out of hell. Girls will line up outside your fancy loft, if you let them. But true love... That does not come around often — and don't make that face, I know you think I'm a lovesick fool, but I know what I'm talking about, ok? The things you just said about Caroline... I may be young and foolish, but I know enough to know that not many people are gonna make you feel that way in your lifetime. I hate it that it means I'll lose my spot as your favorite perky blonde, but if you don't give it a chance, Nik, you'll spend the rest of your days wondering. She'll always be the one who got away, and it will eat you up. I do not wish that on you."

Klaus stares at his sister for a long moment, then he pulls her hand closer to him, places a tender kiss on her knuckles. "You'll never lose your spot, Bekah. You might have to share it, though."

She chuckles and then, after a second, pulls her hand away, whirling around on her seat to ask for a second round. "God, this is more emotional gibberish than I can handle for a month. Let's get drunk."

"Please, tell me your secretary is not hiding under your desk," Klaus says as he breezes into his brother's office with a lift on his step, not bothering to knock.

Elijah grins, but his eyes flash. "Niklaus."

"We need to have a serious conversation and it'll be incredibly awkward if she's blowing you right now. Hayley, if you're there, sweetheart, come out."

Elijah's expression remains perfectly impassive. "That is remarkably unoriginal. Kol has already made that same joke."

Klaus curses around a sigh. "All right. Give me a minute so I can think of a different one."

Elijah stands up and walks around his desk, leaning back against it and crossing his arms. Klaus checks that his trousers look perfectly aligned, although his tie has gone and the sleeves of his shirt are rolled up to his elbows. This is Elijah's equivalent of a rough day, as disheveled as anyone will ever see him. At his worst days, after he's stayed at the office for three straight nights with no more than four hours of sleep in total, Klaus looks like a crackhead next to his brother.

"You wanted to talk, Niklaus?" Elijah prods.

"I've made a decision.”

"On New York?"

"You'll have to find someone else to be your head of corporate," he says, not quite able to hold back the smile. In truth, Klaus has been dying to rush down the firm's corridors screaming, banging doors, jumping on desks. He hasn't felt this kind of euphoria in years. If he knew freedom gave such kicks, he would’ve done this a long time ago. Elijah's eyebrows quirk questioningly, and so he adds, "I quit."

It takes a moment, but then his brother's face lights up with a smile, a real one, showing the dimples almost no one knows Elijah has because he so rarely smiles this widely. Not saying anything, his brother walks over to his cart bar, fills two crystal glasses with his best bourbon and then offers him one.

"I was afraid you'd say yes," he says, clinking their glasses together on a toast.

“Be more relieved, why don’t you? You're not even slightly disappointed?"

"You're my brother and I love you, Niklaus, but you're a nightmare to be around when you're in one of your moods and I very much doubt you'd be a delight had you decided to forsake your barista." He speaks in a lighthearted way, but it tugs at the one thing that's still eating away at Klaus. The thing he'd momentarily managed to relegate to second place in his mind whilst he celebrated his resignation. It must show clearly on his face, because Elijah's brow crinkles and he asks, "What is it?"

Klaus sighs, staring longingly into his drink. "I don't know if I still have a shot. Last I saw her, she told me to leave her alone."

"You broke up?"

"We were never together."

"Are you serious?" 

"Why would you think we were?"

"Why wouldn't I?"

Klaus' shoulders drop in disenchantment. "I tried. She... Didn't want to start something with someone who wanted to leave."

"She's quite right."

Klaus gives him a stern look. "You're supposed to be on my side."

"I have your best interests at heart, Niklaus, but I’m not an idiot." There's a small pause, the two of them taking a drag off their drinks. "Has father been informed of your decision yet?"

Klaus scoffs into his glass. "Barged into his room, told him to go fuck himself and that I no longer work for him."

Elijah's eyebrows rise up to his hairline. "I'll have to access the security cameras for that moment."

"It was glorious."

"I'll play it every time I feel disheartened." Klaus chuckles, making a mental note to download the footage to his phone before he leaves. "So you've already delivered your resignation letter, you've already communicated me of your decision, it is..." Elijah checks his watch. "A quarter to eight. Isn't that when the café closes?"

“Your point?”

"What, pray tell, brother, are you still doing here?"

Klaus curses under his breath when he sees Enzo behind the counter. With how wonderful his night has been so far, he was hoping everything would align and he'd miraculously catch Caroline by herself in an empty café. Then again, when has anything ever been easy for Klaus Mikaelson?

"We're closed," Enzo chants when he walks in, not looking up from the register.

“I’m sure you can make an exception for an old chap.”

Enzo’s whole face twists in ill-concealed annoyance. "I thought we'd gotten rid of you."

"You know, Lorenzo, I've pretty much had it with this attitude of yours," Klaus muses slowly as he walks towards the register.

"Yeah?" the other man sneers. "And what are you gonna do about it, Niklaus?"

His eyes burn into the other man’s with feral focus. "I'm torn. Maybe I'll start with cutting out that nasty tongue of yours."

"Oh, please, do try."

"Don't push me, mate. You don't know how much instant coffee I've had this week."

Enzo purses his lips. "I fancy my chances against a lawyer."

Klaus feels his temper beginning to flare. Their long history of passive-aggressive behavior could probably do with a little punch exchange to put it right, but that would hardly bode well for him and his score with Caroline is already on an all-time low. "You are lucky Caroline likes you."

"It's not luck, mate. I'm likable. You, on the other hand, are a twat."

Klaus breathes out harshly. "Where is she?"

"None of your business."

"Lorenzo -"

"Why don't you leave her the fuck alone? Haven't you done enough?" The air of harmless antipathy on Enzo changes completely, turning serious. His eyes flash with something dark, and Klaus understands — all this time, Enzo had been looking out for her. He treated Klaus with the hostility Caroline couldn't.

It doesn't make him suddenly sympathize with Enzo, but... Well, he would've probably done the same thing. Actually, no — he would've done worse. Klaus has a lot of repressed aggression inside of him. He would've smacked himself if he could. He supposes forcing that poisonous instant coffee into his system was his self-punishment of choice.

Klaus meets the anger in the other man's eyes head on. "I love her," he says, words leaving him with far more ease than he expected.

His siblings aside, the only person Klaus has ever said the cursed three words to was his first girlfriend, when he was 14 years old and a complete moron. Aurora was beautiful, slightly mental and captain of the lacrosse team, and he thought that meant he loved her. He didn't, not really. It still broke his heart when she dumped him after only two months to hook up with his best friend, Lucien. Klaus concluded then, rather foolishly, that if he never confessed to loving someone again, it would never hurt as bad. It didn't, but not because he didn't confess. He simply never felt it. Not until now.

Rebekah, bless her idealistic soft heart, was right in at least one regard: there is love, and then there is love. He knows exactly in what category Caroline is.

Enzo seems unfazed by his confession, hardening his stare once more. "You have a funny way of showing it," he spits out.

"You're a right tosser, Lorenzo, but I know you care about her. So do I. Please... I need to see her."

Enzo regards him for a moment, eyes cold and probing. "She deserves far better than you, but for some reason..." Enzo cuts himself off, letting out a harsh exhale. And then, as though reluctantly making up his mind, he grumbles, "Fuck me. She's in the kitchen." In a heartbeat, Klaus is already turning on his heels, striding towards the door at the far end of the counter. "Klaus," Enzo calls. He stops with his hand on the doorknob, turns back to the other man. "If I find her weeping in the back alley again, you're a dead man, capisce?"

Klaus just stares back at him, torn between how much he wants to hit Enzo and the pang spiking through him like a whip. The idea of Caroline breaking down in that dirty alley after they talked... 

If it happens again, Enzo won't have to move a finger. Klaus will find a way to bash himself raw for it.

Caroline is hunched over a mixer, so concentrated on what she's doing she doesn't even notice him there at first. Her hair is tied back with a kerchief, a little flour across the bridge of her nose and her chin.

For a moment he just stands there, watching her, trying to conjure the courage and the inspiration and feeling as though everything inside him has come to an abrupt stop. Elijah practically booted him out the door, and he didn't miss a second, fueled on all the adrenaline from his antics at Mikael's office, but somehow, this... It's even more important than that. Even more crucial. He should've thought it through, should've given it a moment's consideration. For all his bravado, Klaus has never really used his substantial rhetorical talents to... Ask someone to love him back. Romance is... Well, not one of his fortes. And amidst the jumble of things running through his mind, he realizes with dawning clarity that he has never wanted to kiss anyone quite the way he wants to kiss Caroline's flour-sprinkled face just then. It scares the shit out of him, the things he would do for her, how far he'd be willing to go, and the implications therein.

"Klaus," she says, jerking him out of his reverie. Her eyes are wide with surprise as she turns off her mixer, wiping her hands on her apron. "What are you..." She casts a quick glance at the closed door beside him. "Where's Enzo?"

Klaus tries to school his face into as nonchalant an expression as he can. "Unfortunately stationed outside with his big mouth. Was he supposed to sound the alarm in case I showed up?"

"He was supposed to not let you in here." Right, Klaus thinks. Why would she want to see him? Just because he missed her desperately, it doesn't mean she's felt the same way. The possibility that this will all turn out to be a huge mistake and she'll send him on his way again seems more pressing than ever. Klaus finds himself remarkably unequipped for that case scenario.

"I know I have no right to ask anything of you," he starts slowly. "But... If you listen to what I have to say and you still want me to leave you alone, as soon as we're done here, I'm gonna walk away and I will never come back. You'll never have to look me in the eye again. I will be gone... And you will be free. I just... Need to confess."

Caroline's brow creases. "Confess? Confess what?"

Klaus gives it a second for his racing heart to quiet down a bit, enough so that his voice might come out steady.

He means to tell her how terribly he's missed her, how much of his thoughts she's occupied through the last week, but what he ends up spilling out is, "I’m not going to New York."

Caroline blinks at him. "What?"

"Elijah got the transfer to New York. He offered to take me with him, and I... I said no. And then I quit. I'm officially unemployed." Caroline's lips part, comprehension beginning to dawn on her, and so Klaus moves forward. "Before I met you, I thought I was already at the lowest I could ever be. That I'd hit rock bottom, and in what I realize now was a completely baffling piece of logic, I was comforted by that notion. If that was as bad as it would ever get, then at least it couldn't be any worse. The past 11 days have proved me wrong. It was sheer torture, Caroline. I tried to stay away, I tried to stop thinking about you, but the truth is... I can't. Your busboy outside is a twat and a half, but he's right about one thing... I'm an idiot, and I do not deserve you. I'm a workaholic arsehole with a caffeine addiction, a weird twitch in my left eye from drinking crap coffee for over a week, no idea what I'm going to do with my life from now on, and you have no reason whatsoever to consider anything I have to say except for the fact that I am completely, utterly, desperately... In love with you." Klaus makes a breathless pause. "I love you."

Caroline looks completely stunned, staring at him with wide, unblinking eyes. He watches her, watches her closely, her face, the flow of emotions crossing her eyes and the corners of her mouth. He tries to breathe past the airiness in his chest, past the panic forming at the pit of his stomach, suddenly taken with the certainty that she will tell him to leave and keep his promise to never come back and he will fall apart right there.

After an agonizingly long, tachycardic moment, Caroline blinks slowly, the lines of her face softening as she walks towards him. She comes to stand right in front of him — so close, so close — and, tentatively, lifts a hand to his cheek. Her touch is like an electrical discharge. Caroline's eyes flick from his eyes to his mouth before she cuts the space between them and kisses him.

Her lips are soft and eager, sliding against his in an unhurried dance. It's exactly what Klaus always thought it would be: slow and deep and thorough, but there's fire simmering underneath it, just on the edge of losing control. And Klaus wants more, he wants so much more, wants to drink her in, wants every inch of her, wants to learn everything that makes her tick, all her hopes and dreams and things she wants in life. He wants to make her scream and writhe in pleasure, and he wants to make her laugh until she cries. He wants her to feel at least an ember of the joy shooting through him right that second.

"Does that mean I still have a chance?" he asks lowly when they pull away, mouth still hovering close to hers.

"That means I love you, too." Relief explodes inside of him, flooding his veins like a current. He presses his mouth to hers once more, but she breaks away, hesitant. "You're staying here, then?"

Klaus rubs the tip of his nose against hers. "Yes."

"Are you sure?" she presses. "Klaus, I don't want you to resent me for abandoning all your plans and your future."

"Sweetheart..." Klaus cradles her face with his hands. "I have never been more certain of anything in my life. Even if you turned me down... I would resent myself for the rest of my days for not staying, not telling you how I feel. I should've done it months ago."

Caroline beams like sunshine, the heat of it sipping right through him, gathering at the center of his chest. He would die for that smile, gladly.

This time, he is the one to kiss her. Her hand winds up in Klaus' hair, while his finds its way to the small of her back. He doesn't realize they're moving until Caroline hits the island behind her, and Klaus traps her there, pressed hot flush against him. They barely part for air, things escalating quickly, months and months of longing and wanton need just flowing out of them all at once. When Caroline moans lowly against his lips, Klaus shivers from head to toe, ready to start pulling at her clothes right there and have her in a cloud of flour.

"Oh, for fuck's sake!" Enzo cries out from the door as he barges in. "What is this, Hell's Kitchen? I work here, for goodness's sake." He turns around and goes back outside, grumbling about making a formal complaint to the union.

Caroline cracks up laughing, burying her face in his neck. It's just as well that Enzo should put a break on their quick advances — not that Klaus will ever go public on that. Their first time shouldn't be like this, rushed and desperate, in a kitchen. It should be rushed and desperate, but at his loft, with wine and music and moonlight over the Mississippi.

Klaus places a kiss on the top of her head, allowing her laughter to vibrate through his chest and lull him back into that sense of peacefulness and completion that only Caroline seems to dredge up in him. 

His future may be a mystery at the moment, but at least he’s found his north.

Klaus wakes up to sunlight pouring in through the window to poke him out of sleep. He grunts, burying his face in his pillow, stretching like a cat under his sheets.

Takes him a moment to adjust to the sudden clarity. When he does, a lazy smirk spreads like butter on his lips. He makes a contended purr in his throat at the beautiful silhouette contrasting against the light. Caroline is wearing the shirt he'd discarded on his living room floor the night before and nothing else, exposing those obscenely long legs of hers. Her hair cascades in disarrayed curls down her back, still a little mussy from rolling around in bed and having Klaus' fingers wrapped around it. She's nursing a mug of steamy coffee in her hands, the smoke shimmering against the morning’s cool air.

Caroline's first act once their thing took off and she started spending more and more nights at his loft was to buy him a decent portable coffee maker. She taught him how to operate it and Klaus can now make a fine enough coffee to save his life, but what he's come to learn from watching the behind the scenes of a master at work is that coffee-making — real coffee making, great coffee-making — is so much harder than he ever imagined. There's a world of thought that goes into it. Choosing the right beans, making the right blends, the brewing style, the type of roast, pairing all this up, water temperature... It's fascinating but also insane, like art. So he lets Caroline make all the difficult decisions and limits himself to pressing a button on the machine. That's all he'll ever learn how to do. 

His life is still a bit up in the air at the moment, nothing has been decided. There are some possibilities to assess, but he's not in a hurry. For the first time in forever, Klaus can take his time. The only thing he knows for sure is that he won't ever, ever tire of waking up to the sight of that woman — lying next to him in bed, curled up against his chest, humming cheerfully in his shower or standing by his window, admiring the view of the river. 

It's a rather fascinating view, to be certain, but even his perfect million-dollar sight pales to dullness next to her. Nothing is more splendid than Caroline's smile first thing in the day. If he had any remote idea of how utterly contented and happy that would make him, he would've given up on his sodden job months ago. Back then he had no idea how empowering and healing this feeling could be. His cynical bastard self never thought something as intangible and fabled as love could offer a much-needed reprieve to even the most turbulent of souls. He’s never been gladder to be proved wrong.

"Hey," she says slowly, mouth curving into a smile. "You're up."

"Like that wasn’t your plan all along when you pulled the curtains open."

She shrugs, sips from her coffee. "Am I supposed to be sorry? You sleep too much." And that — well, it's gloriously true. Klaus has been making up for all the nights he spent driving himself to a complete meltdown for years and years. In his defense, their nights always bustle with activity. But he then sleeps like a baby.

He rolls around to lie on his back. "What time is it?" he asks around a yawn.

"Just past ten."

"It's early still. I could easily make it to 11."

"Don't I know that?" Caroline walks over, sitting down next to him, one leg folded under her. She leans over and places a coffee-flavored kiss on his lips. "Good morning."

"Mmm," he replies, a low rumble in his throat. "I thought you had to work today."

"I asked Enzo to cover for me. I'll be in by lunchtime to help him and Bonnie with the afternoon influx."

Bonnie Bennett was the second best thing that ever happened to Klaus. It allowed Caroline to get in later or leave work earlier. Every once in a blue moon, she even dares to take a day off during the weekends. Truth is she's as much of a workaholic as he used to be, except her relationship with her job is much healthier than his ever was. She loves it, for starters. Takes true pleasure in what she does. Besides, it's her business, so it makes sense. Bonnie was a real find, too, quick learner with an honest talent for the thing. In Klaus' completely unbiased opinion, she's already much better than Enzo. But his opinion tends to be eye-rolled upon.

"Good," he says.

"There's something I wanted to talk to you about."

"Talk away, my love."

Caroline sips from her coffee again, a thoughtful line between her eyebrows. "I was thinking... Maybe I should hire someone else."

"If it's to replace Lorenzo, I couldn't agree more."

Caroline gives him a look. "Stop picking on Enzo. It's not to replace anyone. I'm very happy with my employees. I want someone extra, someone new. Make it a team of four instead of three. If I had someone else, and the person turns out to be as good as Enzo and Bonnie, and if I can convince myself that they won't burn down the place without supervision, then maybe... I could take a few days off. Or a week. Or two. And we could, you know... Make arrangements for a little trip."

Klaus’ face cracks into a huge, satisfied smile. He takes the finger she'd been nervously wriggling around the sheet to his mouth and places a tender kiss on the tip. He's been tempting her with ideas of a trip for months, trying to ease her into giving it a proper thought, but the café is her baby. He was prepared to battle on for months yet if needed be. Maybe start with something shorter and simpler, closer — a weekend in California, or in New York, or maybe in Mexico. It seems that his persistence paid off sooner than expected, though, and she has finally convinced herself that even the most diligent of mothers needs a break every now and then.

"Where do you want to go?" He kisses another finger. "Paris?" Kiss. "Rome?" Kiss. "Tokyo?"

She chuckles, leaning in again to place a peck on his mouth. "I'll go anywhere with you," she whispers, a glint in her eyes that, though familiar by now, still makes his heart stutter.

Klaus hooks a hand behind her neck and pulls her in for a proper kiss. Not breaking apart, Caroline manages to put her mug down on the bedside table, easing herself on top of Klaus, straddling him.

"You're gonna make me late for work, aren't you?" she breathes against his mouth, catching his lip between her teeth,

"And you're gonna thank me for it," he replies, hands sliding up her thighs, under the shirt she's wearing.

It's hard to believe his life was such a stark, bleak contrast to this mere six months ago. Klaus used to think he had nothing without his job and his ambitions within Mikael's firm. That he'd be empty and aimless without vendettas to pursue like a madman. Six months after walking out on everything with no contingency plan whatsoever and he realizes he has so much more now. He has his art, which he spends hours and hours creating every day, mixing colors, experimenting with styles and materials, losing himself in the easy pleasure of it. He has his siblings, who he sees much more now than he used to before. He has time to have lunch with Kol and Rebekah — who has relocated to New Orleans for the time being with her vampire show — and to call Elijah, who has broken all Prince Charming protocols by knocking up his secretary, scandalizing Esther and Mikael beyond words. Klaus never liked Hayley quite so much. They'll be getting married in the fall. 

He has his afternoon jogs and all those books he can read, and movies he can watch, dinner reservations he can make.

More importantly, he has Caroline.

With her, he has everything.

The End.