You spend the next day after the Elijah fiasco moping, alone, in your house. You stay in your pajamas until late in the afternoon.

It doesn't make sense to feel so dejected at a brushed off kiss. You've never needed romance before. Or companionship. It's been literal years since you've kissed someone. You think the last person was some drunken half-kiss at the corner of their mouth your freshman year of college. Between working 30 hours a week, taking 8 classes a semester, you had no time for anything resembling a relationship. You have no business craving the Mikaelsons attention the way that you are. (Your libido also has absolutely no business being as high as it is).

Maybe you should cave and finally buy a vibrator.

You are ridiculous. Two decades and some change spent alone seems to have been wiped away by a family of vampires. You wonder if it's possible to become addicted to someone.

With vampires, OD-ing remains within possibility.

Ugh.

It's okay, you can distract yourself. You kept yourself entertained for twenty-some odd years. You start reading that new mystery novel Kate bought you and studiously ignore Elijah's stack of old psychology textbooks he gifted you. You can barely get through the chapters. You keep remembering the way Elijah cradled your head when he kissed you—the image of you kneeling at his feet on the cold shingles. It's unfair he puts so much effort into wooing you only to have to back away because of Klaus's untempered cruelty.

(Then again, you wouldn't be in this situation if not for Klaus. You never would have met any of them if it weren't for him. You think you would have been content being alone forever if the Mikaelsons hadn't entered your life).

You never expected to be happy.

Now that you've grazed it, this endless purgatory seems unbearable.

You give up on reading your novel and decide you haven't been using your new clawfoot tub as much as you should be. Maybe a self-care night will set you straight. You turn the water to the hottest setting and pour rose bath salts in the water. You could kiss Rebekah for gifting them to you.

(Though, to be fair, you could kiss Rebekah for a lot of other reasons).

You pour bubble bath in for good measure and open a bottle of Bordeaux. You even drag your record player into the bathroom. Maybe later you'll do a face-mask. You have vague intentions of trying to read in the bath when your bathroom door opens.

"KOL!" You shout, spilling part of your wine down your front. It stains the water red. "What are you doing in my bathroom?"

He quirks an eyebrow. "You invited me in."

"To my house. Weeks ago."

Kol shrugs. His eyes glitter. Your record player continues to croon fifties hits as he comes to rest on the side of the tub. "I see little difference, darling." His eyes roam and it takes all of your willpower not to sink further beneath the rosewater bubbles. This was supposed to be a calm evening to yourself. Kol with his heated gaze and dark eyes did not come into the equation for your self-care night.

He is a menace.

(You can't find it in yourself to be genuinely irritated— not when that aching hurt in your chest is assuaged by the fact that someone cares about you, someone thought of you).

You've never had people to miss before. Never had people to miss you. A spark of warm elation rises in your chest.

"Most people wait for a secondary invitation. It's the polite thing to do."

"Hm. Lucky I'm not a person, then." You roll your eyes. "Is that the wine I bought you?"

"It is wine that someone bought me, yes. I don't remember who."

Your candles flicker from their position on your sink. Hot steam drifts through the air.

"It's courtesy to partake in someone's gift with them instead of sulking alone in the bath."

"Looks like we're both being rude, then," you say dryly, "I'd offer to share, but I quite literally just got in the bath and I don't really want to get out yet."

Kol shrugs.

"So don't."

"Excuse me?"

Kol plucks Kate's novel out of your hands and leans back against the wall, still sitting on the edge of your clawfoot tub.

"I'll keep you company here. You weren't reading this, right?"

"Actually—"

Kol grins, a quick flash of his teeth that for some reason makes your neck flush. You're not going to analyze that too much.

"Thank you so much, darling," he says, brushing your cheek with his index finger, "You're the sweetest."

"And you're the worst," you retort. His grin only widens.

"Perhaps."

You don't have anything to pretend to read anymore, so you sink down into the water, leaning your head against the lip of the tub.

"This wine is really good," you murmur as you take another sip.

Kol sniffs. "I have good taste."

"How modest."

"Modesty is for humans and absolutely worthless vampires."

"Well, you do have strong opinions."

Kol chuckles and goes back to his (your) book.

It's nice having someone with you, once you get over the fear of accidentally flashing Kol. But he's not looking at you right now, so you feel brave enough to shift a little to dunk your head under the water. He is looking at you when you rub the water out of your eyes.

"Do you want me to wash your hair?"

You blink rapidly.

"O— Okay."

Kol tucks your book neatly to the side and slowly comes behind you.

"Sit up," he says, nudging you gently. You obey. The water is just high enough to cover your chest. Though, at this point, you're starting to not care as much. Part of you wants to see what Kol would do. (You think that's the part of you still smarting from Elijah's rejection speaking).

"Tell me if I hurt you, okay?" Kol says, lathering up your shampoo in his hands.

You smile with your eyes closed. "My scalp isn't sensitive, don't worry." He starts massaging it into your roots and you let out a deep sigh. The tension that's been hiding in your shoulders starts to release.

"Has anyone ever done this for you before?" Kol asks quietly after a long moment.

You shake your head.

"No," you say, voice a touch too soft, "I haven't had those kind of relationships."

"What kinds have you had?"

"Why?" You ask, tilting your head back to look at him, "Want to know if you have competition?"

Kol smiles, something malicious lingering.

"Perhaps."

You tilt your head back down. "I haven't," you say, "You have me all to yourself."

Kol leans down to press his lips to your shoulder

"Tip your head back."

You do and Kol pours warm water over you, carefully avoiding getting it in your eyes. He starts combing your conditioner into your hair and putting them in twists for it to absorb. At some point, it devolves into him just playing with your hair. You've never been touched like this— never even considered it a possibility or a thing to want. Now you just feel safe and happy. The heat of the water makes you drowsy. For a moment, you think you fall asleep. His thumb catches the nape of your neck and you shiver, jerking forward in the water.

Kol's hands still. "Are you alright?"

You hum. You can't find it in you to say real words. He starts stroking your hair slowly again. Your eyes slip shut.

You're not sure how long you stay like that. It could have just been a few minutes. It felt like longer. Eventually, Kol rinses the conditioner out of your hair and puts it up for you.

"Where did you learn to do hair?" You ask once you can form words again.

Kol still rests behind you, hands tracing your skin. "Having a sister is good for some things."

You hum. "I guess now you have two sisters to steal hair tips from."

"I'd rather steal some from you."

You smile, a quiet, personal little thing, hidden away from his gaze. You shiver again when he grazes the back of your neck. You think he's doing it on purpose now. His thumb strokes your cheek. You take his hand a press a gentle kiss onto the back of his hand. You immediately release him, and Kol doesn't say a word. His other hand squeezes your shoulder.

"So," you say, turning around in the bathtub, "Can you leave so I can get dressed?"

"Only if you make raspberry tarts for me."

"Do you have any idea the amount of work that goes into that?"

Kol's face remains blank.

"Fine. Now get out."

He hums. "That's not very polite considering I just expertly washed your hair. One would think you don't even like me."

You smile despite yourself.

"You know I do. Now leave."

Kol's lips do something resembling a smile and he pushes himself up off the ground.

"You best hurry."

"Or what?" You call after him as he leaves, "You'll go through my medicine cabinet?"

He laughs.

"Worse," he says, "Your kitchen."

He's right, that is worse.

You regretfully get out of your still-warm bath and drain the water. Restlessness crawls down your back. (As well as something much warmer and caring). Well, you think to yourself as you knock back the rest of your glass of wine, the most you can do is pray to God that vampires can't sense arousal.

You get dressed and put curl cream in your hair to keep it soft. You keep your house cold enough that you can get away with wearing a sweater inside. Years spent trying to conserve utilities have yet to wear off. You put on thick socks and more layers than necessary. (Your armor against Kol and your terribly short-sighted id).

True to form, Kol's knee deep in your pantry when you exit your bedroom.

"Kol, what are you doing?"

"You need more food. Is Elijah not having groceries delivered?"

"Do you have any idea how much food one person eats?"

"You also cook for us, darling."

"You don't really need to eat. Also," you tack on, "Dual question: how long does blood keep and would you want to keep some in my fridge?"

Kol's face turns to that scary blankness Klaus sometimes gets.

"I would think that may be off-putting for you."

"Off-putting would be a severed head in my fridge," you say dryly, "A few bags of blood from a hospital aren't bad in comparison."

"I would never put a head in your refrigerator."

"That really wasn't the point I was making, Kol."

He examines you for a long moment.

"I suppose I could move some here," he says eventually.

You smile.

You can't think of a reason Kol would be acting so weird about this. (Unless, you think, maybe he's not used to having people care for him. You can understand that).

"Sounds great. Do you still want raspberry tarts?"

He does.

Kol lingers at your kitchen table while you make shortbread crust. You should just keep tart shells on hand at this point, but you haven't found good ones yet. You enjoy Kol's uncharacteristically silent company with more satisfaction than usual. Maybe, you think, what you're feeling isn't addiction, but hunger. Like the feeling of being so used to surviving on nothing that finally eating unleashes depths of appetite laying dormant in your skin.

"I missed you," you say, breaking the silence, "I feel like I haven't seen you in a while. Where have you been hiding?"

Kol shrugs and settles in one of your barstools. Someone should tell him he doesn't actually live here. You're not going to be the one to do it.

"Bit of everywhere. You know how it is."

"No," you say dryly, "I very much don't. For all I know you could be staging coups in Northern Europe."

Kol grins.

"Nothing quite so dramatic. I've mostly been staying in-continent. I was asleep for quite a while so I've been… getting my life back together, you could say."

Your heart dips, uneasy, at the reminder of Klaus's unnecessary cruelty. You push it out of your mind.

"I know you obviously don't need my help, but let me know if I can ever help you with anything."

Kol smiles faintly.

"Thank you for the offer, beloved."

He won't, but at least you've offered.

You bake off your tart shells and start the filling. It's cold outside— just above freezing. The snow on the ground has turned to slush.

"So when were you going to tell me you regifted me an amulet from your sister?"

"In my defense, I didn't know she was my sister."

You cluck your tongue. "Still a re-gift."

This time Kol really does roll his eyes.

"I'll buy you a thousand brand new gold necklaces if you so wish."

"Honestly," you say brightly, taking a sip from your glass, "I'm good with the wine."

You finish your first glass of wine, then a second. You have raspberry preserves in the fridge, you remember as you stare intently at your pantry. Normally, part of you would be irritated at being expected to cook for someone. (You can count the number of profession chefs you know who like to cook at home on one hand). But you know Kol would be perfectly content if you refused, so you're fine with making tart shells and mousse. You're thinking about garnishing them with dark chocolate and a single blood-red raspberry. It's been a while since you've done any intricate baking. You're so absorbed in your ideas you don't notice Kol come up behind you.

"Christ! Can you wear a bell?"

"Do you need an answer immediately?" He murmurs. He has to tilt his head down to meet your gaze, eyes dark with something you can't bear to name. He's close enough you feel his body heat. Your stomach cramps with a different kind of hunger.

"Is there a reason you're invading my personal space?"

Even if he washed your hair while you were naked in your bathtub. It's still rude. (At least, that's what you tell yourself).

"To be honest," he says, stretching an arm past you, "You're actually in the way." He takes down a second bottle of wine before stepping away and you refuse to admit the feeling that wells in your chest might be disappointment.

He's going to give you a heart condition.

"Kol," you say when he pours you a third glass of Bordeaux, "Why is it that every time we hang out you get me day-drunk?"

"Let's not place all the blame on me," he says, "It's not my fault you're a lightweight."

"Hey!" You protest, even though he's right.

"Honestly, I just wanted to see if you could bake as well as you can sober."

"And here I thought you just wanted my tarts."

"There's a joke in there somewhere."

Kol shrugged.

"I am multi-faceted."

"Don't I know it," you mutter under your breath, "More like two-faced."

"I'm feeling very attacked."

"It's good you're aware," you say sagely and Kol bares his teeth in mimicry of a smile.

"I care less and less for you every day."

"Now," you drawl, "We both know that's not true."

You expect him to obfuscate or crack a joke. What you don't expect is for him to stay silent, flicker of hurt flashing across his face. The silence lingers, crawling painfully across your skin.

"I'm sorry," you blurt out because you can't stand being in the wrong, not for long, "I didn't mean that."

For a moment, you don't think Kol's going to respond.

He does.

"I don't appreciate being the butt of jokes, darling."

"You're not—" you say, stumbling, "A joke, I mean."

He takes a step towards you. "Then stop acting like I am."

His voice is hard, but his eyes betray him.

"I'm sorry, Kol," you say gently, "I wouldn't mock anyone's feelings, let alone yours."

He slides closer to you in one deliberating motion. If it were anyone else— in any other context, it would scare you.

"It feels like you are."

Right now all you feel is concern for a mistreated vampire, so used to being rejected he takes offense at the first mis-spoken sentence. An unexpected rush of warmth for Kol floods through you, despite everything.

Well. In for a penny.

"You're ridiculous," you scold, and you pull him into you by his shirt. Kol freezes as you kiss him. The thought that you've misinterpreted again flashes through your mind, but your sinking dread is alleviated as Kol seizes your jaw and kisses you like he's trying to claw his way into your skin. If Elijah was sweet, Kol is hungry. He takes you by your waist and lifts you onto the counter. You didn't even know he had backed you against the counter.

"Finally," he rasps when he breaks away, relief clear in his voice, "I was starting to think you would never break."

He tries to kiss you again and you laugh against your lips.

"How long have you been waiting?"

"Ages, darling."

"Oh, Kol…"

He lets you tender brush the hair out of his face, eyes fixed raptly on yours. You read unfiltered adoration in his dark eyes. The response that wells in your gut scares you. You pull him into another kiss to avoid saying something you shouldn't. Kol presses himself in-between your legs, hands pressing you ever closer. You start to regret your thick sweater and jeans because right now your brain is screaming closer, closer—

Your front door slams open with a bang.

"My apologies," Klaus says, eyes fixed on his brother, "I didn't know you had company."

"Nik," Kol says brightly, but you feel his hands tense on you, "Long time no see."

"Mostly due to you. Would it kill you to answer your phone?"

Kol shrugs. "Depends. If it's you? Probably."

You force a smile. "We were just making raspberry tarts," you say, gently pushing Kol away so you can get off the counter, "Would you like some?"

"No, that's quite alright, love," Klaus says, finally looking at you, "Thank you. I can come back another time. I wouldn't want to interrupt anything."

His eyes seem almost bored. You don't trust them. You don't like the way he was looking at Kol— not when Elijah refused to do more than kiss you out of fear of retribution, not when Marcel…

An edge of unease rings its fingers up your spine.

"Klaus—"

"I'll be back tomorrow, love. You best be ready for a surprise."

"That only sounds mildly worrying."

He flashes you a quick grin.

"It'll be a good surprise. Promise."

"If you say so."

Klaus's eyes flicker to his brother one last time before nodding at you and disappearing.

Your hand clenches around Kol's.

Thanks for being patient :) Hope you guys liked the chapter! It's heating up in here.