Biochemistry
Increasingly, Brooklyn becomes more interesting to him than he'd ever thought it would. In a week, he's visited the borough at least five times. Looking for the girl even though he explain away his sudden interest in the authenticity of the neighborhood and not her.
Each day, he follows the same routine. A late breakfast soaking up the remnants of his late night. Ignoring calls from his family. After Elijah's surprise visit, he'd alerted the doorman not to let his brother up under any circumstance. His temper couldn't be controlled under the best of circumstances but even more so with Elijah earnestly pretending like there is no reason for their fight.
He'll let him guide his career and listen to his advice, but he'll never pretend.
That final morning, he wakes up disappointed that he never saw her again. Annoyed that he won't have ample time with classes to continue his search.
A new semester and she wakes up with the memory of Liam's lips all over her body. She grasps for the alarm and there is Liam, mouth agape, snoring. She reaches over him, shoving him closer to the edge of the bed, to shut off the alarm. His eyes blink open. Deep brown paired with a goofy grin that she would fall for if she wasn't so closed off to the possibilities.
"Good morning, gorgeous."
His smile has no hope of undoing her. "You need to go." She's short at first before she softens her tone. Offers an explanation. An upbringing bred into her that is nearly impossible to stamp out completely. "I have to get ready for class and the train takes forever sometimes."
"Kicking me out already?" He sounds so taken aback that she wonders how many women he's done the same thing to without ever considering that it might happen to him.
"Yup." She rolls off the bed, quick to dress.
"You don't want me to hang out and wait for you to get back?" He props himself up on his elbow, trying to appeal.
"Nope." Her lips purse and she shakes her head.
"Shit, Elena." His face falls. The pretense of his smooth demeaner washed away in disappointment. He lets the ugly flavor of entitlement pepper his words. As if he could sway her with an argument. "What's your problem? You brought me here."
"For sex. Not a relationship." She finger combs her hair in the mirror, glancing back at him occasionally. "I don't need you to stay here and wait for me. I don't need you to hold my hand or take me to the movies." Satisfied with the results, her loose curls in a high, bouncing ponytail, she turns to him directly. "Right now, I just need you to get out of my bed so I can get ready to leave."
"Well, I guess if you ever need my services again. Give me a call." Sarcasm is thick on his tongue as he gathers his things and yanks his t-shirt on backwards over his head. She should feel bad as he leaves her bedroom, his feet echoing down the stairs, but she can't. She only has enough guilt and remorse and those are exclusively reserved for one person now.
"Okay. Thanks," she calls after him awkwardly, attempting to be nice. Knowing it won't sound like anything but mockery.
She avoids her phone while she brushes her teeth and grabs her bag before heading to the train. Once she's boarded she catches her racoon eyed reflection in the window and sees all the missed calls and texts. All but one are from Damon.
She deletes them all.
The party has left her head spinning as the train bounces on the tracks. She too is groaning about her carelessness the night before classes began. Luckily her first was the one she cared the least about – art. Normally, she's never late. Not in the last three years. But today she'd wasted time and it had gotten away from her.
Still, she's floored to find the door locked. Thinks it must be a mistake, rattles the knob until a man in a clean, pressed shirt cracks it open. Handsome, chiseled jaw and ocean eyes. And for just a moment he looks at her with a curious expression before it hardens.
"You must be Ms. Gilbert." His accent catches her off guard too. Charming and he knows it. "Class begins at eight sharp. If you can't manage that, then might I suggest-"
"I can," she cuts him off, gathering herself. She's unbothered by his subtle sneer. "It's only the first day and it's only ten minutes. Can't you make an exception?"
All of her other teachers had liked her, but not him. "You can show up when you're meant to next time." He closes the door slowly in her face with the lie. He'd let someone else in five minutes ago and had forgotten to leave it unlocked. But seeing the girl from last week had shook him enough to shut her out. The idea of having to start at her for the next ninety minutes had his heart racing.
From the sound of the click, she knows its useless to try again.
Suddenly, with a free hour and a half, she has nothing to do but fume. And think about him. His arrogant lips and condescending eyes. His haughty jaw and the way he made her feel stupid with so few words.
She hangs out at the plaza, scribbling in her notebook and decides that she hates her new professor with his stupid curly hair.
Errant thoughts are captured in her notebook, ideas she wants to expound on later when she gets home. Thoughts and dreams that she'd like to turn into stories, but knows she'll never have the time with med school on the horizon.
She closes her book, considers her options, and calls Bonnie. Wondering if she might need some help. There might be errands she could run on this side of the city, she thinks, but there aren't.
Frustrated, she plays on her phone until she gets bored and opens a text thread to Jeremy. Months of one-sided conversations, keeping him up with her life and spilling her deepest emotions knowing that he can't reply. She types out another message to him. Venting about the class and the teacher. Skipping over the details about the party and Liam. Has mentioned her break up with Stefan but not the reason.
It's almost like therapy. A living diary that she texts instead of writing, knowing she won't have to deal with his judgement until later.
Eventually, Tyler comes to find her and together they walk to get coffee, wait around until Caroline joins them. He tells her about class, promises to help organize her supplies with her. They make plans to visit a store the next day to fill the gaps in the things she didn't know to buy.
She complains about not being let into the room and Tyler listens. She likes that about him, he doesn't immediately jump to the solution.
When Caroline arrives and hears the about their morning so far, she screams. Disrupting the entire café with her excitement. "Seriously?! You didn't tell me Klaus Mikaelson was your guest professor this semester! I would have taken the class with you."
"What does that matter?" She hates feeling lost, looking to Tyler for the answer but he only purses his lips.
"Right, you're under a rock trying to become a doctor." She waves he hand impatiently. "He was tied for a while to that actress that does all those action movies. Ever since then his art has really been in demand."
"He was pretty well known before that, babe."
"Well and then he went into self-imposed exile." She continues, painting the picture from the tabloids. "Heartbroken. It's all very romantic. A sad artist closed off from the world. God, Elena. What was he like?"
She looks for the words to describe him and settles on the simplest explanation. "Honestly, kind of an ass."
"Don't ruin the fantasy for me." Caroline pouts before turning to Tyler, her hand on his shoulder. "Babe?"
"I dunno. He was knowledgeable, and he has a pretty cool direction for the class." Tyler shrugs, tapping his pencil against a new sketch book. High end with a matte finish. "I'm excited to learn from him."
His explanation of class is clearly not what Caroline wants to hear. None of the juicy details or gossip so she switches to her own. Some fashion faux flop a poor freshman made. Which new girl she's picked for the very prestigious honor of being her little. With Caroline's rundown of all the working, moving pieces of her life it's easy for Elena to not dwell on her own.
Until Caroline and Tyler leave her alone with her thoughts.
His first class was a nightmare.
He'd been so thrown seeing magic shop girl, Elena, at the door. How much she looked like Tatia. The idea of her meeting him like this terrified him. Naturally, he made it worse. Panicked and refused to let her in. He can't avoid her forever, but he'd been hoping for the chance to slowly get to her know, see what kind of woman she was from afar before he approached her. Meeting her like this was not ideal and certainly complicated any possible relationship.
Pulls out his sketchbook to trace the quick line's he'd managed in the short time he'd seen her.
He's angry that he hadn't tried harder to find her, meet her before today. Breaks the tip of his pencil a half a dozen times.
There's the gallery opening to consider next year and how he'll teach his students. What lessons he wants to impart and how. He has tangible concerns to address and yet, he can't stop thinking about her.
She'd been out the night before, that much he could tell. From the mascara smudged under eyes to her curls frizzing out uncontrollably. She's messy too. Like him. It makes him think about the possibilities of the same wild look she might have if she were to ever spend a night with him.
Exhilarated, he switches from her soft curls to her bare shoulder. Imagines his hand grazing the gentle slope of her neck to collarbone.
When he sees her again, walking into the empty classroom with a kind of confidence he only falsely exudes, he slams his book shut. Praying she never finds out about the sketches he made of her in the coffee shop. Considers burning them to save him from the embarrassment, but she distracts him enough to abandon the thought.
She walks in like a summer day. The light and warmth in the room shift enough that he wonders if just her being in a room would inspire him to paint. He can't help but tease her. Ignore her question. Of course, he has time for her. "Next class isn't until Friday, Ms. Gilbert. You needn't be quite this early."
"This isn't a joke for me, Mr. Mikaelson." His playful attempt to flirt completely misses the mark. She's in no mood and has never considered any teacher to be available for that anyway. Getting into med school had become even more of a singular focus after she imploded last year. And this man had morphed into an obstacle.
A handsome hurdle but one, nonetheless.
"Klaus." His eyes light up and she ignores his stupid smirk.
"I'm supposed to graduate in the spring," she says without any amusement. She clarifies when he doesn't seem to understand. "With my friends. And then go to med school. Like my dad."
"By all means, I'm not stopping you." His tone sours slightly. He's had enough of doctors recently.
"You literally stopped me this morning. I've never been late before, and it was only ten minutes and," she loses her composure and control, gesturing widely with her arms. If hearing that she needed to take this class was annoying, then he was twice as worse. She does manage to stop herself, letting out a long exhale before lowering her hands slowly. "That's not the point. I just wanted to stop by to apologize."
"That's an aggressive way to begin an apology." His grin returns. Maybe he could overlook her familiar scholarly ambitions for her similar passionate disposition.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Mikaelson." She's a waterfall holding back. A rushing current trying to contain itself under a sheet of ice. "I'm a dedicated student and I won't let it happen again."
"Klaus," he repeats.
"What?"
"You can call me Klaus." It's not an allowance he'd made for the rest of her class, but he wants so badly to hear her say his name that he can't help the request.
She ignores it, barrels on to her point. "I need this credit to graduate on time, sir."
"Show up on time and do the work." He sits back, a protective hand still on the sketch book. "Take it as seriously as you do your other classes. That's all I ask."
"You want me to take a drawing class as seriously as I took Physics?" Her eyebrow shoots up, lips clench immediately afterwards in embarrassment. She knows how bad her first impression is on him, but it's like she can't help it. Increasingly, he finds it endearing.
"By the lovely hint of disdain for your voice, I look forward to seeing you next semester." He stands to gesture out the door. Slightly annoyed that she seems so stalwart against him, he challenges her. "Or perhaps Art History is more your speed?"
"I'll manage, Mr. Mikaelson." She readjusts the strap on her shoulder, uncomfortable in the strange territory of a teacher disliking her. "You'll only need to deal with me until winter break. I promise." She says it like a threat, sending chills across his arms.
She's a force, even as the summer breeze chases her heels out of the classroom. He wishes it could have gone differently. That he'd been nice and noble and pleasant. That he'd been charismatic and charming. But he's none of those things and so much worse.
He sits back down, shoves the sketch pad into a drawer, and whispers, "Klaus."
To no one, but an empty room.
A/N: Sometimes I fall in love with the small moments. Like Tyler knowing about Klaus and possibly more details about the art world than he ever lets on. Or the big moments, like Elena stubbornly trying to guide an out of control train and strong arm it back on the tracks. Thanks for reading!