your last | klaroline

announcement

                                 your last
                     chapter twenty eight
                            announcement

I wake to warm, strong arms.
They smell familiar. Old but young, like wood and wind. I inhale as much as I can, as casually as I can, before settling into the embrace.

Then reality hits.
Is this Klaus's bedroom? What the hell am I doing in here? I shoot out of bed, fumbling with the sheets before hopping off. We most definitely did not have sex after Kol's interruption, but I don't remember coming to his room.

My expression softens at his sleeping figure.
His mouth parted slightly, his eyes closed, lashes fluttering across his cheekbones. Sans burdens, sans one thousand years of life. He seems almost at ease.
Awe turns into humour as I remember his arms wrapped around me. The great Klaus Mikaelson likes to cuddle? Who knew?

I move to exit his bedroom, deciding not to deal with the awkward encounter when he wakes. But, I blow out a breath and take a seat on the floor, brushing through my hair with my fingers. If he wakes and I'm not here, I know he'll immediately assume I've left for good or something horrible happened to me. It's his absolute nature to be pessimistic.

I sit on the hard wooden floor for a solid four minutes before one of his eyes opens, the cocky smirk I've been so easily accustomed to immediately grazing his lips.

"Watching me sleep now, are we, love?"

My eyes immediately roll as I stand up, pushing the sheets off his body and squealing internally at his shirtless form. I will never get used to that. He smirks, kicking one leg over the bed and easing himself up. We move so we're face to face, his expression cocky, mine embarrassed for absolutely no reason.

"I wasn't," I clarify, referring to his past sentence. He simply cocks his head, laughing, and turns around.

Then I remember what I have to do today.
Yesterday was my chance to ease into the news. But as I look down, I realize my belly is swollen again- bigger than it was before. I'm just starting my fourth month now. Today, I'm going to make the announcement to all my friends that I'm pregnant with Klaus's baby.

Oh god. Even the thought terrifies me.

Klaus must see the change of expression on my face, because he places his palms on my elbows, holding me in place. It worries me how he can always read my mind.

"Today's events can wait," he says, his fingers brushing at my cheekbones. He tucks a lock of hair behind my ear, looking at me from under his lashes, and I nod.

We spend the rest of the morning procrastinating. Drinking coffee over forced conversations with Elijah. Making waffles and ultimately burning them. Sitting in his room and watching him paint. For a while, I forget what I have to do.

Klaus's fingers move with expertise across the canvas, his paintbrush swerving and creating lines everywhere he moves. He seems so absolutely absorbed in his artwork that I don't dare disturb him. At first, all I can make out is dark figures; tall, pointy triangles.

Then the painting begins to come together.
The triangles turn to evergreen trees, dotted with snow, standing like sentries. But what catches my attention is the figure in the middle of the painting.

She appears almost angelic. Blonde hair and blue eyes, her body clothed in a ghostly white nightgown. She lights up the entire painting with her innocent aura.

Then I realize that the girl is me, and my breath hitches. Is this how he perceives me?

Minutes later, he's finished, and he turns around, his forearms dotted with paint. I can imagine what my expression resembles: awed, admiration in my wide eyes. But he simply smiles and sits next to me.