[For Cami, this is the first night time has granted her to stitch together this memory, and she tries at first to make it last. Even as sleep pulls at her she fights it, holds her eyes open for just a few moments longer until she no longer can. Eventually slumber claims her, but even that is something sweet; there are few moments, after all, that she can color as safe ones, ones that leave her truly peaceful and content.
They have fought this for a long time, and with good reason. Later, they will have to think of those reasons, the truth of what this night and each after mean--but Cami is too tired, too happy when she drifts off. Those thoughts can be banished for a time in favor of the simplicity of this night.
She sleeps, and if she dreams she doesn’t remember--that in and of itself a blessing for someone haunted by nightmares. When morning comes she’s slow to wake, even as his touch coaxes her back from that blissful darkness. His touch reminds her of where she is, draws a smile from her lips as memories create her first thoughts: the eagerness of their kisses, the intensity of his gaze.
The heady rush that comes from surrendering to something she’s wanted for ages.
Cami doesn’t yet want that perfect night to end, even as the morning light colors what she sees behind closed eyes. But Klaus’s fingers make a tempting lure, and Cami slowly turns to close that small gap between them. Reality will set in soon, all the things they have to face now that this attraction has become something more. For now, however, she burrows close to him, presses herself against him with her head tucked in at the crook of his neck.]
“G’morning.” [Her greeting softly spoken, she slips a hand around his waist. She hopes that whether he’s spent his night sleeping or keeping watch, that this morning he still feels the happiness that she does, the contentment that has her smile simply because she must.]
[ it's a strike to his chest, small but reverberating, to see her eyes closed in bliss, to see the tender reflection of that bliss in the soft curl of her smile, so tightly wound is his heart. it warms him, obliterating so much of the cold grief and uncertainty in his bones, suffused into his limbs. he can feel his features soften as she tucks herself into him, and it's with a slow exhale that he relaxes into her and lets his eyes close a moment later, lets her fill up every space inside of him that has been emptied and bruised by her absence.
by the violence and terror in which she was torn away. neither have happened here, and it's easy to pretend in this moment neither ever has. it is a healing, beautiful thing, to hold her and be held in return, his hand caressing into the dip of her spine, his lips finding the soft hair beside her temple, the curve of her cheek in slow succession.
the thoughts that had plagued him in the night have not abated nor faded into the recesses of his mind, but he is more than content to relent them to cherish her now. for her, so content; for himself, in his longing for it. its gravity; hers, pulling him in. ] I can't think of any one better. [ his voice is soft against her ear, his cheek resting against hers, raw with an honesty that defies its flirtatious melody. his fingers curl just so against her back. ]
[Truth be told, it's been quite a long while since Cami spent the night with a man. Not in a sexual sense, given her relationship with Sam, but rather simply slept next to someone, then woken to find them warm and close. It's not really an attachment Cami's allowed herself to truly indulge since Sean's death, and her subsequent discovery of the truth of it. Logic would dictate this situation should be avoided, that she should find someone safe to be with, someone good, who lacks the struggles she knows war within Klaus--that when she opens her heart, it would be to a chance not fated to break it.
But love wills as it wants, and lately, Cami's had every reason to live for the present, and to savor the gentle trail of kisses he leaves upon her skin. She wants this, stupidly, wholly, and even if it's just for a little while Klaus seems just as willing to indulge in it, for however short a time. She hums softly when he whispers, words that might make her laugh or teasingly comment on a lack of coffee, safe for that thread of vulnerability woven within them. She turns her head to nuzzle her cheek against his, to press her lips against the coarseness of his stubble. Part of her wonders if they shared a morning like this in that terrible future, before everything fell apart.
She can't let her mind wander down that path, however. Not if she wants to preserve the lightness this morning brings.]
You know, I'm not sure if I can either. [Instead she focuses on this one truth: that for all the horror of her life, the fear of her certain death, the twisted opportunity provided by Wonderland? That on this day, this morning, in this place, she is happy and at peace with someone she loves, who has never spoken of his love for her but she's seen it in his gaze all the same. Only now does she pull back, enough to meet those beautiful, revealing eyes, to stare into their depths and smile as she raises a hand to his cheek.]
I'm glad we stopped running away from this. [Even if it must end in the worst way, they have the present, and that is a sweeter thing than she could have ever dreamed.]
[ they did share a morning like this, bloody and terrible. they shared a night like this, perfect and wondrous, the quiet touches and lasting kisses awakening awe and radiating a force unlike any other into every part of him, every moment, until there was nothing else. he knows it now; knew it, then. but he has never known nor had this. he smiles, warm and small, feeling the affection of her kiss; remembering her joy—his joy—after he kissed her beneath those twinkling lights.
he feels it now, that joy. he's glad, not only because the horror that followed is unknown to her, but because they can feel it again, anew. yet the truth he knows settles in his heart, hard and heavy at the core of him, and not even the happiness in her eyes nor his can chase it fully away. he is glad, to have given into this here and now, thought he doesn't believe they was ever running away from this. even in the moments he would turn away, when she chose to do the same... his love for her was already living and breathing inside of him, pulling and riving him into her.
it was inevitable, how their story goes. how their hearts speak. how they want. his fingers reach to touch the hair at her temple, to feel it beneath his fingers. ] I don't believe we ever truly were. [ he will always find her, as they've found each other here. he loves her, as he always would.
his voice is captured; his breath stops looking at her. the bittersweet elation drops into his depths of his fears. he finds the will to breathe, ragged and audible, and moves his eyes away from her. his fingers curl over her shoulder, firm and desperate; he clings. ]
[Her smile mirrors his, warm and quiet, untouched by the experience of how this all went terribly wrong the first time. She wants to hear him finish the thought, to weave together the ways they hadn't run even as they fought what dwelled within them, that intense attraction and desire and connection, that overwhelming rush she feels every time she stands in his presence and sees who he truly is. He's made her heart skip with his words before he walked away, with his warmth and his touch before he spun her around, left her dizzy and alone.
This time that won't happen. This time they're together, acting on a mutual affection so strong, it feels like it must have always been.
Yet instead of sweet whispers, something different grips Klaus. Her sleepy delight turns to something more fearful when he tightens his fingers on her shoulder, when he struggles to breathe. She moves a hand to his face, her palm gentle, warm against his cheek to remind him that she is there still. She is there, alive, unharmed.]
Klaus? [Cami calls out to him quietly, wanting to beckon him back from his thoughts. She can guess why he suddenly feels this surge of fear and panic, but that wouldn't be fair to him. There is so much to the story he's lived that she still does not know, and as much as Cami doesn't want it to intrude on their morning, she has been unfair in all of this for too long.]
Klaus, talk to me. [So she silences her assumptions, her thumb brushing lightly over his skin as she asks for a different brand of intimacy. This is far from a simple thing for her, or an easy one--but today, she would face it, so he wouldn't endure it alone.]
[ for how long? for how long will she be here, alive and unharmed? their story lead to this, yes: to the delicate and perfect strength of this contentment and love, but he remembers its inevitable course. he trembles with it, despite the warmth of being pressed so seamlessly against her.
it led to her blood and her death. his story has led to darknesses he can hardly abide and must, every day. his hand grips her shoulder, her arm. she is so solid and real in his grasp, and in this moment he cannot let her go. klaus lifts his eyes; he knows it is from her selfless desire to care for him that she offers those words, that she offers this. but he is not so selfish to let her.
perhaps it pains him too much to say. perhaps he knows what he must say will pain her, and that is pain enough. resolve takes him. ] I need to get back to my daughter. [ the words are rough, pulled from his throat.
[In some way she feels she should have expected this confession, that the path his heart would demand has been set, and obvious. Cami isn't naïve; whatever they feel for each other, for thousands of years Klaus has put his family first, and even that love is trumped by his utter adoration for his daughter. She has watched him tear apart those closest to him, felt the sharp pain of his fangs in her neck, all in the name of protecting Hope. Klaus cares for Cami, perhaps even loves her—but she is not the one he lives for.
She knows this, and has for some time—yet that certainty cannot diminish the sting of truth, it's sharp strike that shatters that moment of happiness.
For a moment, she cannot hide the pain. The shock leaves her too open, the reality that's kept itself curled in the back of her mind once more flooding her thoughts. She is dead within their world, and only alive here. She only exists within a terrible space, a torturous life designed to rip their identities away.
A prison where she has to somehow fashion a final chance.
She swallows around the thick lump of emotion, her eyes growing glossy with tears—yet they do not fall. Cami won't let them fall, and despite that vivid reminder of her own agony she forces a grin, so slight for all the effort that she puts into shaping it.]
I know. [She knows, and she understands. The logic is simple, the rationale plainly seen. He cannot live for the dead, and Cami cannot ask him to. She will not be so cruel to someone who means so much to her. This can be nothing more than a moment; they can be nothing more than a dream.
A life to be forgotten, whenever Wonderland ends it.]
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Re: morning of november 3rd.
They have fought this for a long time, and with good reason. Later, they will have to think of those reasons, the truth of what this night and each after mean--but Cami is too tired, too happy when she drifts off. Those thoughts can be banished for a time in favor of the simplicity of this night.
She sleeps, and if she dreams she doesn’t remember--that in and of itself a blessing for someone haunted by nightmares. When morning comes she’s slow to wake, even as his touch coaxes her back from that blissful darkness. His touch reminds her of where she is, draws a smile from her lips as memories create her first thoughts: the eagerness of their kisses, the intensity of his gaze.
The heady rush that comes from surrendering to something she’s wanted for ages.
Cami doesn’t yet want that perfect night to end, even as the morning light colors what she sees behind closed eyes. But Klaus’s fingers make a tempting lure, and Cami slowly turns to close that small gap between them. Reality will set in soon, all the things they have to face now that this attraction has become something more. For now, however, she burrows close to him, presses herself against him with her head tucked in at the crook of his neck.]
“G’morning.” [Her greeting softly spoken, she slips a hand around his waist. She hopes that whether he’s spent his night sleeping or keeping watch, that this morning he still feels the happiness that she does, the contentment that has her smile simply because she must.]
no subject
by the violence and terror in which she was torn away. neither have happened here, and it's easy to pretend in this moment neither ever has. it is a healing, beautiful thing, to hold her and be held in return, his hand caressing into the dip of her spine, his lips finding the soft hair beside her temple, the curve of her cheek in slow succession.
the thoughts that had plagued him in the night have not abated nor faded into the recesses of his mind, but he is more than content to relent them to cherish her now. for her, so content; for himself, in his longing for it. its gravity; hers, pulling him in. ] I can't think of any one better. [ his voice is soft against her ear, his cheek resting against hers, raw with an honesty that defies its flirtatious melody. his fingers curl just so against her back. ]
no subject
But love wills as it wants, and lately, Cami's had every reason to live for the present, and to savor the gentle trail of kisses he leaves upon her skin. She wants this, stupidly, wholly, and even if it's just for a little while Klaus seems just as willing to indulge in it, for however short a time. She hums softly when he whispers, words that might make her laugh or teasingly comment on a lack of coffee, safe for that thread of vulnerability woven within them. She turns her head to nuzzle her cheek against his, to press her lips against the coarseness of his stubble. Part of her wonders if they shared a morning like this in that terrible future, before everything fell apart.
She can't let her mind wander down that path, however. Not if she wants to preserve the lightness this morning brings.]
You know, I'm not sure if I can either. [Instead she focuses on this one truth: that for all the horror of her life, the fear of her certain death, the twisted opportunity provided by Wonderland? That on this day, this morning, in this place, she is happy and at peace with someone she loves, who has never spoken of his love for her but she's seen it in his gaze all the same. Only now does she pull back, enough to meet those beautiful, revealing eyes, to stare into their depths and smile as she raises a hand to his cheek.]
I'm glad we stopped running away from this. [Even if it must end in the worst way, they have the present, and that is a sweeter thing than she could have ever dreamed.]
no subject
he feels it now, that joy. he's glad, not only because the horror that followed is unknown to her, but because they can feel it again, anew. yet the truth he knows settles in his heart, hard and heavy at the core of him, and not even the happiness in her eyes nor his can chase it fully away. he is glad, to have given into this here and now, thought he doesn't believe they was ever running away from this. even in the moments he would turn away, when she chose to do the same... his love for her was already living and breathing inside of him, pulling and riving him into her.
it was inevitable, how their story goes. how their hearts speak. how they want. his fingers reach to touch the hair at her temple, to feel it beneath his fingers. ] I don't believe we ever truly were. [ he will always find her, as they've found each other here. he loves her, as he always would.
his voice is captured; his breath stops looking at her. the bittersweet elation drops into his depths of his fears. he finds the will to breathe, ragged and audible, and moves his eyes away from her. his fingers curl over her shoulder, firm and desperate; he clings. ]
no subject
This time that won't happen. This time they're together, acting on a mutual affection so strong, it feels like it must have always been.
Yet instead of sweet whispers, something different grips Klaus. Her sleepy delight turns to something more fearful when he tightens his fingers on her shoulder, when he struggles to breathe. She moves a hand to his face, her palm gentle, warm against his cheek to remind him that she is there still. She is there, alive, unharmed.]
Klaus? [Cami calls out to him quietly, wanting to beckon him back from his thoughts. She can guess why he suddenly feels this surge of fear and panic, but that wouldn't be fair to him. There is so much to the story he's lived that she still does not know, and as much as Cami doesn't want it to intrude on their morning, she has been unfair in all of this for too long.]
Klaus, talk to me. [So she silences her assumptions, her thumb brushing lightly over his skin as she asks for a different brand of intimacy. This is far from a simple thing for her, or an easy one--but today, she would face it, so he wouldn't endure it alone.]
no subject
it led to her blood and her death. his story has led to darknesses he can hardly abide and must, every day. his hand grips her shoulder, her arm. she is so solid and real in his grasp, and in this moment he cannot let her go. klaus lifts his eyes; he knows it is from her selfless desire to care for him that she offers those words, that she offers this. but he is not so selfish to let her.
perhaps it pains him too much to say. perhaps he knows what he must say will pain her, and that is pain enough. resolve takes him. ] I need to get back to my daughter. [ the words are rough, pulled from his throat.
he cannot stay here with her.
his heart cannot. ]
no subject
She knows this, and has for some time—yet that certainty cannot diminish the sting of truth, it's sharp strike that shatters that moment of happiness.
For a moment, she cannot hide the pain. The shock leaves her too open, the reality that's kept itself curled in the back of her mind once more flooding her thoughts. She is dead within their world, and only alive here. She only exists within a terrible space, a torturous life designed to rip their identities away.
A prison where she has to somehow fashion a final chance.
She swallows around the thick lump of emotion, her eyes growing glossy with tears—yet they do not fall. Cami won't let them fall, and despite that vivid reminder of her own agony she forces a grin, so slight for all the effort that she puts into shaping it.]
I know. [She knows, and she understands. The logic is simple, the rationale plainly seen. He cannot live for the dead, and Cami cannot ask him to. She will not be so cruel to someone who means so much to her. This can be nothing more than a moment; they can be nothing more than a dream.
A life to be forgotten, whenever Wonderland ends it.]