[ he knows she is confused. he knows she would not intend to be cruel and he does not receive the confession as such; on the contrary. she's trying to understand, he knows. she's trying to make sense of herself and of all he has shown her and he knows there is little he can do, could do, to assist. it's why he is silent, weathering his own emotions, and why he embraces the fealty for more quiet: for her and for himself.
his gaze moves through the space around them and back to her. (he has rarely felt time. three years could and has meant very little to him, but that is not the case here. knowing her, his time in mystic falls, breaking his curse and seeing his family again. leaving for new orleans and all that he has gained and lost after; those years have meant more to him than entire centuries. they have changed him just as surely as they will change her.
they've allowed them both the allowance to grow.)
he squeezes her hand in an earnest attempt to lend her understanding before she pulls away. those years are just as large and meanignful inside of him; his fingers flex at her shoulder at her tears.
he's silent still as her eyes meet his, as her question and the force of her takes away his capacity for words: he does not know. he does not know why he is here, why he has found it in himself to share this with her, or why he would choose to do so. he does not know, besides the undeniable and inscrutable truth of what he has never forgot: how he feels about her.
klaus blinks; his jaw sets, his voice thickened with the certainty of his feelings. ] Because I care about you. Because I want to be. Because when I think about my future, I think about you. [ the confession leaves him and tightens his throat with its truth. with his fear of it, his surprise of it opening his eyes—not because he didn't know it, deep in his bones, but because he can feel it given life; he can feel it give him breath. he pulls it in, lashes fluttering. ] I hope... [ he swallows. what he hopes is without words; he hopes. he has hoped about many things: his family, his daughter, his life—and her. ] I hope.
no subject
his gaze moves through the space around them and back to her. (he has rarely felt time. three years could and has meant very little to him, but that is not the case here. knowing her, his time in mystic falls, breaking his curse and seeing his family again. leaving for new orleans and all that he has gained and lost after; those years have meant more to him than entire centuries. they have changed him just as surely as they will change her.
they've allowed them both the allowance to grow.)
he squeezes her hand in an earnest attempt to lend her understanding before she pulls away. those years are just as large and meanignful inside of him; his fingers flex at her shoulder at her tears.
he's silent still as her eyes meet his, as her question and the force of her takes away his capacity for words: he does not know. he does not know why he is here, why he has found it in himself to share this with her, or why he would choose to do so. he does not know, besides the undeniable and inscrutable truth of what he has never forgot: how he feels about her.
klaus blinks; his jaw sets, his voice thickened with the certainty of his feelings. ] Because I care about you. Because I want to be. Because when I think about my future, I think about you. [ the confession leaves him and tightens his throat with its truth. with his fear of it, his surprise of it opening his eyes—not because he didn't know it, deep in his bones, but because he can feel it given life; he can feel it give him breath. he pulls it in, lashes fluttering. ] I hope... [ he swallows. what he hopes is without words; he hopes. he has hoped about many things: his family, his daughter, his life—and her. ] I hope.