I don't even know where this came from.
Prompt by Tay: Klaus/Caroline - stuck-in-an-airport-because-the-flights-were-SO-VERY-delayed-and-it's-like-two-am AU
Unbeta'd
Chicago's weather is horrible.
It reminds him of London in a way––all grey skies and dreary rains. But he has long forgotten home much like how he often forgets his umbrella, leaving him cold and drenched inside and out.
One day, Chicago becomes a girl.
It's not a phenomenon but more of a human inclination to associate a city to a single face.
She was there, and she was the whole city, and that's that, pens that bloke Salinger.
Blonde hair and pale blue eyes, she sits at the airport lounge with her shoes kicked off, gaze trained to the yellowed pages of her 1984 paperback. Every now and then, she tucks her sunny curls behind her ear, chews on her lower lip one second and stretches her feet the next, baring the star-shaped tattoo etched right there on her skin.
On his flight back, his dreams are filled with stars.
He's never one to obsess, much less after a girl––
His life is in constant transit and living in a suitcase means there's no room for extra baggage.
––but he does so anyway.
Once or twice he sees her again at the very same spot at the very same airport. He doesn't even know her name, doesn't know her story. A wanderer perhaps––she looks like a girl who has embraced the world––or maybe someone perpetually lost just like him.
Soon she finds her way on the edges of his planner, on the inside of his cigarette pack or on the back of his plane ticket, like an apparition––haunting and lingering.
Somehow it doesn't make him feel guilty or ashamed. He doesn't feel like he's hiding some dirty secret or have the need to explain. She's just there, a piece of Earth just beyond his reach, warm and burning bright––
And isn't Chicago a city borne out of fire?
On a stormy night, he finds his Chicago on his shoulder.
A lot of flights have been delayed, including his. He remembers calling his sister and sitting down on an empty line of chairs with his ruffled blond curls, tie loose and sleeves lazily rolled up. He doesn't remember dozing off.
But she's there when he opens his eyes, sleeping against him.
They're at the part of the lounge where the backrests of the seats are up against each other and she's on the row behind him, her head titled back and somehow found its place on the crook of his neck.
It's utterly puzzling how this girl can be so at ease with him and for a while he just sits there, part stunned and part afraid to wake her up. In his mind, he wonders how her voice would sound like when she speaks or when she laughs. She smells of the morning like sunshine on an open field and she's so beautiful, more devastatingly up close.
Though he finds he doesn't have to think long because in a second, she starts to stir. He watches soundlessly as her eyes flutter open, meeting his own blues, and by the blood suddenly rushing in her cheeks, he knows she has begun to realize what she's just done.
"Oh my––" She fumbles with her apologies, covering her lips with the back of her hand. "I didn't... I'm s––"
They stare at each other for while––
She, beautifully bewildered, and he, quietly mesmerized––
––before a laugh escapes from her.
"You got a––" She bites her lip, points a finger on his cheek. Lifting a hand, he feels creases on the side of his face, perhaps from when he slept and leant his cheek against the crown of her head.
He bows his head a bit shyly, cheeks dimpling, and he senses her eyes on him before she tilts her head to side and speaks with a smile.
"You look really familiar."
"What are you leaving beautiful Chicago for, Klaus Mikaelson?"
He takes a sip of his bitter coffee. "Work."
"Define work." Caroline Forbes prods, blowing on her cup and making her cheeks a bit red with the hot steam.
He bites his tongue, resisting the urge to say her name out loud.
"I teach."
"What do you teach?"
"Art, mostly. A bit of history and literature. I'm actually a tenured professor back in New Orleans but occasionally, I'm invited to do lectures here."
She leans back on her chair. "Wow."
"It's not as glamourous as it sounds."
"Still."
He dimples. "What about you? What do you do?"
"Well..." She murmurs after a beat, catching her lower lip between her teeth. A habit of hers, he slowly learns. "I am a writer, I guess?"
"You don't sound so sure, love."
"Well, I do write but not a lot. I write for the local paper from time to time. My dad––he's a local here–– He knows someone from the paper who apparently likes the stuff I write but, anyway, I can't really just stay put in one place so, you know, I've been around doing a lot of odd jobs here and there. Right now I'm supposed to be in Virginia, helping a friend... do a thing."
Klaus raises a brow.
Caroline smiles, peeking at him through her lashes with her teasing eyes.
"Long story."
"We've got time."
Her tongue is hot and wet on his neck when she shoves him in one of the bathroom cubicles, untucking his shirt from his pants with one hand, popping off the buttons with the other. She pushes the garment off, her hands dancing on the tattoo on his chest and he curls his fingers in her hair, lifting her face up to meet her with a searing kiss.
Attention. All passengers of Flight 321 to Richmond, please proceed to the North gate. Thank you.
His mind is in utter haze. One minute they were talking and then kissing on the next. Perhaps it's the cold or just the proximity. Perhaps it's because of her laugh or how he makes her laugh. Perhaps it's her eyes. Perhaps it's his dimples. Perhaps it's a lot of things or nothing at all.
Hands under her shirt, his touches are blazing a hot trail on her the skin of her back, her spine. Caroline pulls back from him breathlessly and rubs her palm on his stubbled jaw, a smile painted on her face. "I've always wondered what it's like to kiss a stranger."
He chuckles lightly, bowing his head to nibble on her lips and making her laugh. "And how am I doing?"
"You're perfect."
Attention. All passengers of Flight 321 to Richmond, please proceed to the North gate. Thank you.
"You're going to miss your plane, love."
"I know." She leans her forehead against his.
And he's perceptive enough not to ask the how's and the why's. Not when she looks at him with her honest eyes, her uncomplicated heart taking a chance with a stranger.
What about him? What even is waiting for him back home? A job. His security. The next ten years of his life.
And he hates Chicago. He hates the weather, the cold. He hates how it makes him think of London.
But she's there––
"I think New Orleans can wait as well." Klaus murmurs against her lips before diving down to kiss her again.
––And maybe, just maybe his Chicago will become his whole world too.
Thoughts?
Thank you for reading!
