Chapter Text
The air inside the Mystic Grill smelled of greasy fries, cheap draft beer, and the sharp, cloying tang of panic.
Elena sat huddled in the corner booth, clutching her glass of Coke until her knuckles turned white. It was supposed to be a quick, stealthy operation: slip in, grab a bite to eat on what was supposed to be Matt Donovan’s day off, and slip out before anyone noticed.
But Mystic Falls was a town designed for bad timing. Matt had swapped shifts with Aaron, and within five minutes of stepping through the door, Elena had found herself trapped in the most agonizingly awkward conversation of her young life.
It had been over a year since they broke up. Poor, sweet, kind Matt. He was a good guy, he really was, but he hadn't quite gotten the memo that they were firmly relegated to the past tense. After nearly thirty minutes of his clumsy, lingering attempts at flirting, desperation had stripped Elena of her senses. A lie had bubbled up her throat and spilled out before she could stop it.
“I’m actually waiting for someone, Matt. My boyfriend.”
It was a reckless, stupid lie (especially in a town where gossip moved faster than a summer wildfire) but it had worked. Matt had fumbled over his words, stammered an apology, and retreated behind the bar.
The only problem? He was now glaring directly at the back of her head. If she stood up and walked out alone, the jig would be up, and the pitying glances would follow her all the way down Main Street.
Panicking, Elena scanned the room. And that was when she saw him. He was sitting alone at a high-top table near the back, making himself comfortable as if he owned the place.
He was a complete stranger: someone she had definitely never seen in Mystic Falls before. He possessed a sharp, striking jawline, messy light curls, and an aura that practically screamed dangerously out of her league.
Desperate times called for absurd measures.
Before her brain could veto the impulse, Elena slid out of the booth and rushed over to his table. Her heart hammered against her ribs like a trapped bird as she leaned down, fumbling out the quiet, breathless question:
“Can I kiss you?”
If Elena had known who the man actually was, she might have understood (and perhaps even found a strange humor) in his immediate reaction. His vivid blue eyes widened comically as he took in her face, his gaze darting from her eyes to her lips in a fraction of a second.
A flicker of utter, stunned disbelief crossed his features. And if asked later, Elena would swear she saw him give a microscopic nod of his head before she completely lost her nerve and jumped into the deep end.
She threw her arms around his neck and pressed her lips against his.
At first, the kiss was disastrously awkward. Her soft, warm lips pressed against his completely frozen ones. He was so still, so impossibly rigid, that it felt almost like kissing a cold, marble corpse. The irony was entirely lost on Elena, whose mind was spinning with mortification.
Just as she began to pull away, ready to apologize a hundred times over and say goodbye to whatever social standing she had left in Mystic Falls (Caroline was going to murder her when this gossip reached her) the stranger shifted: he kissed her back.
His lips parted beneath hers with a sudden, devastating confidence. His frame moved fluidly, subtly shifting his broad shoulders to shield her body from the bar’s view. His fingers were firm yet remarkably gentle as they settled on her arms, pulling her closer until there was no daylight left between them.
Elena lost all sense of time. She had never been kissed like this before. To be fair, her baseline for romantic intimacy was severely limited. She had only ever really kissed Matt: whose teenage makeouts paled so drastically in comparison to this that they hardly felt like the same species of act. And traded a few practice pecks with Caroline back when they were fresh-faced young teens, giggling during slumber parties and drinking games to prep for the "real deal."
This was the real deal.
She wasn't sure when she had closed her eyes, or when her fingers had bunched into the fabric of the stranger’s collar, clutching him so tightly her fingertips went numb from the pressure.
Electric heat coiled in the pit of her stomach, making her forget about Matt, forget about the Grill, and forget about the weird, fragmenting dreams that usually haunted her sleep (the ones where a face identical to her own pulled her from the dark, icy waters of Wickery Bridge).
And then, just as suddenly as it had begun, it stopped.
The intoxicating warmth of his hand pressed against her lower back vanished. The softness of his parted lips was replaced by the ghost of a warm, steady breath against her skin as he gently pushed her away.
Feeling as though she had been yanked violently out of a hazy daydream, Elena stumbled backward. Her heel caught on the chair behind her, and she would have undoubtedly cracked her head open on the corner of the wooden table if a hand hadn't shot out with inhuman speed.
His arm caught her, wrapping around her waist to keep her firmly upright. Elena would only later understand why this particular man refused to let her spill a single drop of blood in the middle of the Grill.
Startled, her cheeks burning a violent shade of crimson, Elena immediately began gushing apologies. “I am so, so sorry. Oh my god, I’m so sorry…”
Lost in her own frantic inner turmoil, she entirely failed to notice the dangerous, dark amusement glinting in the man’s bright blue eyes.
The stranger took it all in stride. A low, rich chuckle rumbled in his chest, entirely unbothered by the fact that he had just been functionally assaulted by a local girl in the middle of a Tuesday afternoon.
“No worries, love,” he said softly.
Elena froze. He had an accent (thick, British, and impossibly smooth) that sent a sudden, unbidden shiver straight down her spine.
“Who could mind getting randomly kissed by a beautiful woman in the middle of the day?” he added, a smirking tilt to his lips.
Elena gripped the edge of his table, trying to anchor herself. “I was just… I’m sorry. I don’t normally make out with strangers, I promise…”
He held up a hand, clearly charmed by her breathless rambling. The amusement in his expression deepened, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Oh, it’s quite flattering, really. I wasn’t aware I had quite this effect on women until now.”
“No, I was just…” Elena sighed, running a hand over her face to hide her burning cheeks. “It’s a long story. My ex. He works here, and he’s been trying to get back together, so I lied to him that I was on a date. Which I’m not, clearly. And I just…”
“Kissed the first handsome stranger you ran into?” he supplied, raising an eyebrow.
Elena winced. “…Well, yeah. It sounds quite creepy when you say it like that.”
The stranger offered her a slow, languid smile that felt entirely too heavy for the mundane surroundings of the diner.
“I’m Klaus,” he said, extending a hand to her, his fingers brushing hers with that same strange, static chill. “It’s a tiny bit less creepy, love, if you at least know my name.”
Elena took his hand, her heart giving another treacherous flutter against her ribs. “Klaus…”
Elena let his name linger on her tongue for a second (foreign, sharp, and strangely captivating) before reality slammed back into her. The adrenaline began to fade, leaving only a cold wave of utter embarrassment in its wake. She pulled her hand back, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear as she stepped further away from his table.
"Right. Well... Klaus," she stammered, offering a quick, self-deprecating smile. "I should really go. I am so sorry for disturbing your day, truly. I'll just... sneak out the back and let you get back to whatever you were doing."
She began to turn on her heel, ready to execute a swift, undignified escape, but Klaus spoke up before she could take a single step.
"Now, hold on a moment, love," he said smoothly. He leaned back in his chair, draping one arm casually over the wooden seat, his bright blue eyes fixed entirely on her face. "Which one of those delightful young men behind the bar is the cause of all this chaos?"
Elena paused, glancing over her shoulder. She saw no real harm in entertaining the kind stranger. He had been remarkably graceful about the whole unsolicited kissing thing, after all. Nodding toward the bar, she pointed subtly at the blonde boy currently wiping down the counter with a little too much force.
"The blonde one," Elena whispered, leaning in slightly as if Matt could hear them over the noise of the jukebox. "Matt. Matt Donovan. Poor guy... he really is sweet, but he just won't accept that we're over. And now I've made everything ten times worse." She let out a long, heavy sigh, resting her hands on her hips.
"I am officially screwed. It's a mess entirely of my own making, but I've practically cornered myself. If I leave now, he's going to know I lied about having a boyfriend, and then I'll have to deal with the pity, the awkward questions, and the relentless gossip."
Klaus followed her gaze to Matt, his blue eyes narrowing for a fraction of a second with something unreadable: something dark and predatory that vanished almost as quickly as it appeared, before his face relaxed back into a charming, easy smile.
"Well, we certainly can't have that, can we?" Klaus murmured. He pulled out the empty chair across from him and gestured to it with a grand, theatrical flourish. "Sit down, love. Share a drink with me."
Elena blinked, thrown off by the sudden offer. "Oh, no, I couldn't possibly keep bothering you…”
"You're not bothering me in the slightest," Klaus interrupted, his British accent dripping with effortless charm. A slow, mischievous smirk curled the corner of his lips. "There's no need for you to run off looking like a fugitive. I don't mind playing the role of the devoted 'fake date' if you need one. In fact, I'd consider it a public service."
He tilted his head, watching her reaction with an amused, intense focus that made her skin prickle.
"So, what do you say, Elena? Shall we give your ex a proper show?"
Before Elena could even wrap her mind around the absurd offer (or the fact that this stranger somehow knew her name before she had given it to him), the floorboards behind her creaked under a heavy pair of sneakers.
Matt had abandoned his post at the bar. He approached their table with a tight, nervous gait, his cheeks flushed bright red and his eyes darting anywhere except at Elena’s face. The sight of her practically draped over a complete stranger had clearly shattered whatever faint hope he had been clinging to, leaving him visibly miserable.
Mortification flared through Elena all over again, and her instinct to hide took over. She took a half-step back, effectively tucking herself behind Klaus’s broader frame.
Klaus caught the motion instantly, and a look of deep, dark satisfaction flickered across his features. He subtly shifted his shoulders, more than happy to provide the requested cover.
"Can I... get you guys anything?" Matt mumbled, shuffling his feet and staring intently at his order pad.
"Ah, excellent timing, mate," Klaus said, his voice dripping with easy, aristocratic charm. "I'll have another bourbon, neat. And bring one for the lovely lady here as well."
Matt’s head snapped up, his brow furrowing as he finally made eye contact with the older man. "Uh, I can't do that. Elena’s only nineteen. I can't serve her alcohol."
Elena bit her lip, bracing for the inevitable lecture Matt was about to give her, but Klaus merely leaned forward. He didn't raise his voice, and he didn't look angry. He simply held Matt’s gaze, his eyes wide, bright, and suddenly impossibly still.
"You're going to bring us two bourbons," Klaus said, his smooth British accent softening into a low, strange, rhythmic cadence. "And you're going to enjoy serving us. In fact, you'll find yourself thoroughly convinced that my companion here is far out of your reach, and you'll leave us to enjoy our afternoon in peace. Isn't that right?"
Elena, still cowering slightly behind Klaus's shoulder, missed the sudden, vacant stillness that washed over Matt's face. She didn't see the way his pupils dilated until the blue of his irises was swallowed whole, or the eerie, mechanical way his shoulders dropped.
"Two bourbons," Matt repeated, his voice flat and entirely devoid of his previous tension. "Right away, sir."
Matt turned on his heel and walked back to the bar, his movements remarkably smooth, leaving no trace of the awkward, defensive ex-boyfriend who had approached them seconds prior.
Elena stared after him, blinking in sheer disbelief. "How in the... how did you just do that?" she asked, genuinely stunned. "Matt takes the Grill's liquor license more seriously than his own life. He usually threatens to call my aunt if I even look at a pint of beer."
Klaus chuckled, a rich, dark sound that seemed to vibrate in his chest. He gestured toward the empty chair across from him once more. "I have a very convincing way about me, love. Now, please... sit."
Relief washed over Elena in a cool wave. The immediate threat of social ruin had been temporarily neutralized. Releasing a long, shuddering breath she hadn't realized she was holding, Elena finally let herself sink down into the chair at Klaus’s table, crossing her legs and looking at her unexpected savior with a mixture of awe and lingering suspicion.