You've never been to New York, and you've also never ridden in first class. Today's a day for new adventures.
"The plane ride's not even that long, Klaus," you drawl, "Can you not survive in economy for a few hours?"
"Absolutely not, dear. Especially after that terrible flight to New Orleans," he responds, handing you a flute of airplane champagne, "You're lucky we're flying commercial at all. Elijah's firmly against private aircraft nowadays. Something about wasting natural resources. I really just tune him out when he gets started."
You're really not sure how Klaus branded himself the patriarch of his family when he's obviously such a middle child.
"So why are we going to New York City?"
"Can I not just invite you on a trip?"
You hum, pretending to think. "Hm, no."
Klaus's eyes sharpen in amusement.
"Smart woman. This is actually a multi-faceted plot. You've never been to New York, I have some business to take care of that I believe you will enjoy, and, of course, I enjoy getting you all to myself."
"Selfish," you scold even though your heart isn't in it, "How do you know I haven't been here before?"
"Call it a lucky guess."
"Or cyber stalking."
"Or that," Klaus agrees.
"Do I get to know what business you have to do? Please say it isn't spree murder."
Klaus laughs.
(You were only half joking).
"No murder this time. At least, nothing in my schedule. I can always pencil one in if you so choose."
"No thank you," you say quickly, "I'm all good."
"Relax," he says, taking a draught from his flute, "I was only joking. You really should lighten up."
You roll your eyes so hard you see stars.
Klaus remains a steady presence at your side as you get tipsy off airplane champagne. (You're starting to get the vague feeling you're becoming spoiled. What a strange feeling). His hand remains close to yours on the arm rest.
You swallow around champagne and something else entirely.
"So," you say once you've landed, "Where are we going?"
"First," he says, "We're getting lunch. There's a cafe nearby I think you'll like."
New York is a tad too busy for your tastes. You have no idea how people live here, but then again you're used to the slow, quieter suburbs of Virginia. Part of you likes the anonymity that living in a crowd offers. The other part wants to sit down with some tea in blessed silence.
Turns out, that's exactly what you get. The cafe Klaus takes you to is a brick storefront wedged between a tailor and a coffee shop. It barely looks occupied from the outside, but the inside is warm and quiet with only the tinkling sounds of silverware against porcelain and the soft tones of people's private conversations. The hostess guides you to a velvet booth in the corner despite there only being two of you— you suspect because of Klaus's tendency towards compulsion.
Either Klaus knows you very well or he's secretly a mindreader, because he gets you a chamomile a split second before you can think to ask for it.
(Part of you wonders how he knows you so well).
What a stupid thought.
"So," you say, drawing out the 'o', "How long are we here for?"
Klaus shrugs, reclining in his chair. "However long you wish. We can get return tickets whenever."
"You know, normal people buy round-trip air plane tickets."
"Most people aren't us," he replies with a teasing grin.
You roll your eyes. "Don't I know it."
Klaus lulls you into almost forgetting that he's an immortal vampire and you're the biggest wreck you know. For a split second, this is a normal date in New York and you're someone you don't recognize. (This city, for all it's brusqueness and dirt, is too fancy for you). You take a sip of your tea. It burns like salt.
"How often do you come here?"
He hums.
"In all honesty, not very often. The art is better in Florence, cities more to my tastes abroad. In America, I have more of a personal connection to Chicago or New Orleans."
"Wow," you say dryly, "Tell me how you really feel."
His lips twitch.
"That is not to say that I don't enjoy New York. 'City that never sleeps' etcetera, etcetera."
"I really just keep getting stuck on the image of you on the subway. It's not clicking for me."
"I've ridden the subway," Klaus says indignantly.
"Sure," you lie.
He opens his mouth to protest when the waitress interrupts him.
"Hi! What can I get for you today?"
Klaus's face ripples into a plastered on smile as he places his order with the waitress. Even his voice changes to something more 21st century American. It's odd, like a mask so perfectly formed it acts as a second skin.
(It disquiets you to know that he's been letting you see beneath it. You don't know when he stopped hiding himself from you.
Didn't really understand that he's been showing you who he is this whole time).
You realize the waitress is waiting for you to take your order.
"Oh, sorry! Just the Bonne Omelet is fine."
"Of course, I'll put these right in for you."
She gathers the menus off of the table and vanishes with traditional New York hastiness. You realize Klaus's eyes are intent on you when you turn around.
"What?"
He smiles, slow.
"Nothing at all. I'm looking forward to our evening tonight. I've been rather selfish with our itinerary, is there anything you'd like to do while we're here?"
"You won't even tell me what's on the itinerary," you accuse, gesturing at him with a fork, "How should I know what to add?"
"I think you'll survive," Klaus says wisely, "I wish to keep it a surprise."
"What if I don't like surprises?"
"Life is full of disappointments."
"You are literally the worst."
"You know," Klaus muses, "You're not the first person to tell me that."
"You'd think at this point you'd take the hint."
Klaus's eyes brighten when he laughs. They don't lose their spark, gaze lingering on you. You shift in your seat, legs brushing his.
"I know it's selfish," he murmurs, "But I really am glad to have you all to myself."
You remember the way Kol's hand tightened around yours.
"You know," you say with forced casualty, "It was your decision to introduce me to your family."
"I regret the decision every day."
"… Do you really?"
Klaus hums. "Rarely. But not never."
Your meals arrive and Klaus doesn't elaborate. You don't ask again.
It's late in the day by the time you're done eating. You're still tired from your morning at Finn's even though it feels like a million years ago already. You yawn into your sleeve.
Time feels like it's speeding up at an exponential rate. (Is this how it feels to be immortal? But instead of days, it's years?).
That would explain a lot.
"It's so cold here," you say shivering, pulling your coat tighter around you as you walk, "How do people live like this?"
"To be fair," Klaus muses, "A good part of them are vampires."
You roll your eyes. A tourist (you presume) in a Hawaiian shirt jostles you roughly. Klaus catches your arm to balance you. You barely catch the sharp glare he sends them before it dissipates.
"There cannot be that many vampires in existence in one city."
Klaus turns to face you, grin lurking in the corner of his mouth. He's still holding onto you as you turn a corner. You're not sure where you're going, if there's really any destination at all.
"Are you serious?"
His teeth flash in a smile. "Quite. You'd be surprised how many of us there are."
"I guess that means you're probably not the first vampire I've met."
Klaus's grin flickers.
"Well," he starts, "I wouldn't go that far."
Your lips curve despite yourself. "You really should get a handle on your jealousy."
"And you should have higher self esteem," he retorts, "We can't all get what we want."
You roll your eyes and yawn again.
Klaus hails a taxi will all the confidence of a Hallmark protagonist going home for the holidays and gives the driver an address you don't recognize. You wrinkle your nose at the faint smell of stale cigarettes embedded in the interior.
"Where are we going?" You ask as the car starts moving away from the curb.
"Our lodging. I thought you might appreciate the opportunity to rest."
"I thought you had something scheduled for this evening?"
"Ideas, nothing scheduled," he agrees, "Nothing that can't wait, love. You're tired."
"I don't want to ruin your plans."
Klaus huffs.
"You're not ruining anything," Klaus insists, exasperated, "Why on Earth would I drag you to something when you're tired when I'd be perfectly content having a night in?"
You blink up at him and offer a smile.
"I suppose it's obvious I'm not a huge city person."
"We all manage to progress pass our origins eventually," Klaus says, patting your hand.
Brat. Even if he's right.
The taxi takes you, not to a hotel like you were expecting, but to a nondescript not-quite-skyscraper on the Upper East side of Manhattan. Well, you think to yourself as you step out of the cab into the cool night are, actually maybe you should have expected this.
"Do you have an apartment in every city on Earth?"
"It's not an apartment."
"Would it kill you to break the whole 'dark and mysterious' thing you have going on?"
"Quite possibly," Klaus reasons.
You roll your eyes, but can't stop yourself from smiling. Klaus pays the taxi driver a frankly absurd amount before he turns to you with dark eyes. He gestures toward the door.
"After you," he says.
"How kind."
You take the elevator up together. Numbers light up as you go higher and higher.
"… Klaus," you say dryly when the numbers don't stop rising, "Are we on the top floor?"
"Now why would I do something ridiculous like that?"
"You know, I thought the whole 'showing money off' thing peaked when you bought me a house."
"I think you'll find I'll always manage to one-up myself," he says and takes your hand. "Besides," he tacks on, "This was actually a very gracious 'thank-you' gift from a witch."
The elevator door opens to an expansive penthouse overlooking Central Park. You're not even aware of the first few steps toward the windows, so big you can see nearly all of the city.
"This is why people keep trying to murder you," you say, eyes tracing the glittering skyline, "You're taking all the best real estate."
"'Try' being the operative word," Klaus corrects.
You shoot him a look that loses its heat in the dark reflection of his eyes.
You shiver despite the central heating.
"Living room is right here, kitchen down the hall," Klaus says blithely, gesturing down the frankly too-modern hallway with high ceilings and a touch of chrome, "And here we are."
He opens the door to reveal a bedroom with a bed too big to even be a king and an attached bathroom.
"Klaus," you say dryly, looking at the lone bed, "How presumptuous."
He quirks an eyebrow.
"Oh, I'm down the hall. Just in case you need me."
You flush so hot that you know Klaus has to see. (And he does, if the twitch at the corner of his lips is any indication).
"Oh."
The silence stretches for so long that Klaus takes pity on you.
"It's still early if you want to do anything this evening. You may even get over your shopping aversion."
"Hm," you hum, "I doubt it.
That stupid smile doesn't fade from his face. You clear your throat.
"Anyway. I'll get ready."
"Take your time," Klaus says, amused, "Your clothes are in the wardrobe. I'll be in my studio."
"Studio?"
He smiles again and doesn't elaborate.
"Come find me when you're done."
"I will," you promise.
You take your time exploring your temporary room. Klaus wasn't joking about the clothes. Smooth silks and soft cottons move like water under your fingers.
Klaus really can't help himself, can he?
You take a quick shower to wash the plane off of you. You don't wash your hair (not quite that day of the week) and come out smelling like jasmine and cedar. You already know you're not going back out today— even if you haven't told Klaus that yet— so you get dressed in a silk dressing gown. If Klaus is paying for all this, you may as well use it. The viridian green compliments your skin. You can barely feel it as it ripples over your skin, not quite opaque. It's beautiful, but…
You pluck at the plunging neckline, thoughts whirling in your head.
"… This is a bad idea."
You get changed into plain cotton pajamas.
It's dusk when you finally emerge. Not that it means much in mid-February when the sun sets little after 5:00. Klaus isn't in the main area by the white oblong sectional or in the kitchen with New York City high-end standard granite countertops.
"Oh," you say when push open a door at the end of the hall, "There you— what is all this?"
Klaus grins from his stool sitting an easel so covered in paint you can't tell the original color. "I thought you might like this. I keep a studio in all of my main residences."
You blink, stepping farther into the room.
"I thought you said you didn't like New York."
"I had it set up when I planned our trip," he replies easily. He finally looks down, eyeing your pajamas. "I see you decided on staying in."
You flush hot.
"I hope that doesn't interfere with any of your plans."
He smiles.
"Not at all. I somewhat planned for this," he says, gesturing with his head towards something in the corner.
You blink.
"I didn't know you did ceramics."
"I don't," Klaus says pointedly.
"… Oh…" You trail off. Klaus has an entire set up on the other side of the studio. For you. A nicer throwing wheel than you should really be allowed to use sits opposite him, fresh 50 lb box of clay ready for you. Plywood shelves are set up for your creations to dry. Newspaper sits in stacks on the floor next to so many containers of glaze you don't think you could feasibly go through all of them before they dry out.
"Tell me you didn't get a kiln."
Klaus laughs. "I did not. Do you want one?"
"No thank you," you say too quickly, " I don't even know how to use it." There's a brief pause while you struggle for words. "You don't have a concept of too much, do you?"
"I think you'll find I do not," he replies blithely, "And I wouldn't consider art supplies too much in any situation."
"I'm not even that good."
Klaus tilts his head up at you. "Art isn't about being good. It's about creating something."
"… Thank you, Klaus."
He smiles and puts down his brush.
"You're very welcome," he says with a small smile, "Now please, join me."
You do. Klaus has the basic tools you've been using: sponges, loop and ribbon cutters, wire. He has some others you've never used before and you're not about to yet. You put a hunk of clay on the wheel and start throwing. Some slip splatters in Klaus's direction and you wince.
"Sorry. I can put up a drop cloth if you want? I don't want to ruin any of your paintings."
"They're fine," Klaus says dismissively, "All of my paintings live inside of me. A little clay won't ruin them."
"When did you start painting?"
Klaus hums. "When I was quite young. We didn't have modern paints, I used everything I could find instead. American walnuts for black, dandelions and marigold for yellow. The Natives had a plot of indigo they allowed me to borrow from occasionally."
You didn't know you could even make paints out of half of those.
"I feel inadequate for just using acrylic."
Klaus laughs under his breath, a low charming sound.
"You have more colors in the average craft store nowadays than I could even imagine as a child," he muses, "It's strange how much things have changed."
Not that strange, you think privately to yourself, a thousand years is a long time.
"… I think that's just part of being immortal, Klaus."
He pauses briefly, mixing paint with a palette knife.
"I suspect you may be correct."
"Have you ever painted much?"
You shake your head. "The last one I made was that shitty sunrise in my old living room. I took a painting class in high school, but I was never very good."
"Ceramics suits you."
It's dumb that such an off-hand statement makes warmth rise in your chest.
"… Thank you."
Comfortable silence envelops both of you. The soft spinning of your wheel, slick sounds of wet blending on canvas. You lean over to catch a glimpse of a hatched charcoal background with thick paint strokes.
"What are you painting?"
"I'm not sure yet," Klaus says, "I'll find out along the way."
You suppose you will.
You end up staying up later than anticipated. You make one plant pot (for Finn) and something you could use to hold paintbrushes or flowers, depending on the day. Klaus makes progress on his painting. He says he still doesn't know what it is. You can see hints of something monstrous in the background if you squint. Devil horns in the whirlpool of grays and blacks.
You drag Klaus out of the studio when it gets too late and somehow find yourself making midnight hot chocolate on the stove.
"So much for being tired and wanting to go to bed," you say as you whisk melting baker's chocolate into milk and sugar, "I'm sorry we didn't go out."
Klaus sighs, exasperated.
"Would you stop apologizing and learn that I— along with everyone in my family— do not do anything I don't wish to? As of now I want nothing else besides homemade sipping chocolate."
You shoot him a look.
"You should know by now I have to apologize for everything."
"Yes," Klaus says dryly, retrieving two disappointingly plain ceramic mugs out of the cabinet, "I am somewhat aware of that."
He stands too close when you ladle out two cups worth, so close you can feel his body heat separate from the warmth radiating from the gas stove. You turn and he's right there. You can see every freckle scattered around his eyes. You realize there are green flecks scattered in his icy eyes.
You've never noticed that before.
"Here," you say abruptly, pressing his cup into his hand. He doesn't move away. He's close enough you could kiss him if you wanted to.
(You do want to).
You back away and take a sip of your drink. Warm bitter chocolate envelops you. Klaus's eyes don't leave you.
"Hm, this is quite good."
"It's hard to mess up melted chocolate."
Klaus smiles against the rim of his cup.
"I suppose you're right," he murmurs, but his eyes are still dark. You swallow.
"So what do you have planned tomorrow?" You ask.
Klaus hums and sets his cup on the counter.
"Anything you wish."
You could get used to the sound of that.
Hope you guys liked the Klaus heavy chapter. Next chapter will contain some **spice** :)