Notes:

As usual, I'm sorry for the delay but I hope you'll like (or at least enjoy) the second chapter.

Thank you to all of those who have followed, favorited or commented on this story. And a big thank you to everyone who has sent kind words. You know who you are. Know that your words of encouragement mean the world to me. :)

This is unbeta'd.

Happy reading! :)

Days went by, brushing strokes of melancholy on the way she moved. On the way she smiled.

On her way.

She was movements embodied in one strange harmony. The voice of light. Bright, colorful. Mesmerizing. And flaked under the polished surface. Only now it seemed that there was a bigger piece missing, one he could not see. One he could not define.

One he knew he loved nonetheless.

And as he watched her talk and move around him, he understood he missed it. Like he would miss her one day. A day, inevitable, when there would be less of her in his life.

He had come to accept it – they were doomed to fade anyway. Like every beautiful thing in this life.

Promises of eternity rarely stood against the touch of time.

But, as with everything that hurt too much, he did not dwell on it.

~o~

Spring poured into her room, coating everything around her in uncomfortable warmth; it spread gleefully through the room, going over her, poking at her through the coat of sleep, trying to shake her awake. She turned on the other side with a frown, not letting the pestering heat break her peace. Precious moments when she did not have to think, worry. Pretend.

She rolled onto her stomach, moving to an untouched spot on her bed; her left foot ventured outside the sheets, in search of a stream of cool air, and her toes wiggled in delight under an unexpected cool caress. She kicked off her sheets, happy to have found a reprieve from the nuisance, and grabbed a pillow, pressing into it in a comfortable embrace, sighing contentedly as she fell back into slumber. Sweet peacefulness.

Alas, it did not last long.

It never did.

Her alarm clock screeched a few moments later, asking her to please get up. ''No!'' she whined, using her multitude of pillows to cover her head.

She tried to drown the noise by pressing them tightly over her head but, if anything, the screeching seemed to grow louder, penetrating the fluffy shield.

''Ugh! Stop!''

She let out a frustrated breath and came out of hiding, throwing a few pillows angrily on the floor, and proceeded to move from her spot, on the bed, to the bedside table to turn the alarm off. She glared at the offending object, as if one look would be enough to silence it.

It was not.

She hit the thing full force. Unfortunately, her hand collided with the stacked books that she liked to keep close; the carefully constructed tower shook and the small vase, that normally sat securely on top of them, rocked precariously, flirting with the edge of its crumbling throne.

Oh, no.

She stood on her knees, transfixed, as the scene unfolded in slow motion. The vase continued to rock drunkenly, tripping over itself. It rolled on the table, water cascading over the books, and fell over the edge, onto the floor, in a mess of daffodils, water and broken ceramic.

Great. Just –

Great!

''Impressive.''

She turned toward the door, startled, and saw him leaning against the door frame, his arms crossed. A picture of polished coolness.

''I knocked,'' he said as a way of explanation, ''but you seemed very busy, releasing your anger on poor defenseless objects.'' He seemed to find the whole thing amusing.

''Ha, ha! You're funny! Except you're not,'' she rolled her eyes. She got out of bed and stretched and went to pick up the pillows she had thrown in her fit of rage. ''Aren't you going to help?'' she asked.

He looked at her with a mixture of amusement, challenge and something she could not decipher.

''Why would I? You look like you can manage on your own.''

He was enjoying it.

''I don't know why I bother,'' she huffed, picking up the last pillow. ''You're useless.''

''No need to be rude about it, Caro– ''

Ha!

The pillow hit him in the face with a precision she did not think she was capable of. But, then again, he always had the ability to bring the best in her.

Or the worst.

~o~

Her phone buzzed and she frowned.

''Something important?'' he asked between sips of his coffee.

''Hmm?'' she looked at him, a distant look in her eyes.

He gestured to her phone. ''Something came up?''

''Hmm? Oh! No,'' she shook her head, a tight smile on the lips. ''Just Matt.''

He nodded, not sure about what to say. Not sure about how he could comfort her. Erase the frown and replace it with a smile.

The truth was: it was never ''Just Matt.'' It was ''Matt and feeling insecure'' or ''Matt and agonizing over what she had said or done wrong.''

Matt and self doubts – Matt and hurt –

Matt and – something or the other.

He did not understand it. He did not understand the need for it. Love. When all it did was make her sad. Make them sad. Sooner or later.

''All you need is love'' they said. A lie.

You needed passion, ambition – direction. But love? Love made people weak. Love made fools out of people.

Love.

They were all fools.

All fools.

And, for some reason, he felt that he was one, too.

~o~

We need to talk.

Matt's text came with a sad realization.

She did not need to talk.

She readjusted her towel and went over each hanger once more. Nothing. Nothing that matched her mood. Every single color was off. Either too warm or too cool. Just not what she wanted them to be.

She wanted –

She wanted –

She sighed.

She wanted what exactly?

Between pretending and feeling, she was a bit lost. And a bit tired, too.

Tired of never saying the right thing. Always being inappropriate. Not enough or too much but never right.

And she tried!

Oh, she tried...

She tried so hard. And yet she kept falling. Failing. Always the blonde distraction. The silly girl. The fun girl. The parenthesis. Or maybe she was more of an hyphen. A transition. Someone you enjoyed until someone else – someone better – came along.

She was just Caroline.

No one's first. No one's last.

Her hand finally stopped over a pastel blue dress she had bought on a whim but had never worn. Stress shopping never translated well in her wardrobe and, now that she was looking at the dress, it seemed too bland. Too safe.

She shrugged. It would do for the day.

Another day, another uniform.

Another mask.

~o~

Now that he did not paint anymore, he read. Black print on an otherwise blank page. He liked poems most of all. Each one a different painting. One without colors but with music.

A written melody of unspoken words.

Genuine art. Only – only he could not seem to care. There was no imprint on his soul. Only a suspended moment, like an autumn leave falling to the ground. Dead, forgotten as soon as it hit its resting place.

He turned the page, the grainy paper rustling under his fingers. Insubstantial almost. Lacking thickness and matter. He read with no urgency. Nothing could come close to what he had left behind.

But he had not abandoned everything.

Or lost everyone.

He turned to the blonde beside him, expecting her to be dozing. It had been a long, tiring day.

When she had jumped on his bed, very much uninvited, he had protested the invasion, not at all in the mood to talk – or to be pestered. But one look at her and he had known that the day had been harder on her than it had been on him. Although – it had not been so much a look as it had been an absence. A quietness. A stillness, for all her liveliness, that had told him that it would not be so bad to let her nestle against his side. And so he had made room for her and she had lied down next to him, staying silent as he continued to read.

He had thought she had fallen asleep but, now that he was looking at her, she looked wide awake. And it only reinforced his unease. To know that she was silent. Not sulking or trying to make a point. Just silent.

''Is it any good?'' she asked.

''Hmm?'' he frowned.

''Your book,'' she said, ruffling the pages with her index finger, and her stare attached itself on him once more. The only stare he did not feel like running from.

Flecks of light that gently caressed him. Even when he was at his worst.

Sometimes, he felt that she was the only person who really saw him, saw past the biting words and rashness. Sometimes, he thought she was the only person who cared. Who cared enough to get past his bad temper. Who stayed in spite of everything.

In spite of him. In spite of who he was and who he was not.

He did not deserve her. She was the only thing that he never had to fight for and he did not deserve her.

Her loyalty, her light. Her laugh.

''Hey,'' she said, shaking him out of his reverie. ''Where did you just go?''

''Nowhere,'' he shook his head. ''I'm with you.'' He dropped his book on the floor and lied on his side, facing her.

''Always?'' she asked, eyes bright. A shade of blue that he could not pinpoint. Ever changing. And it struck him how beautiful she was.

He looked at her. His friend. And a nagging voice whispered that it was a lie and that forever did exist. With her. But he did not want to believe it.

Until he did.

''Always,'' he vowed, and something soft, something tender, befell upon her. Something that found an echo in his heart. Something he did not want to ponder.

''Bad day?'' he inquired, trying to get away from thoughts that puzzled him.

''Busy day.'' She rolled on her back and she closed her eyes. ''Exhausting,'' she sighed.

''I can see that.''

"Really?'' she looked at him.

"You're quiet.''

''And that's bad?'' she snorted. ''I recall a couple of times when you asked me not so politely to shut up. Who knew Klaus Mikaelson could be so rude...'' She shook her head.

He pursed his lips. That was true. But, in his defense, even the most patient person would be driven off the wall by her incessant chatter.

Incessant. Maddening.

And now he missed it.

He remembered older days – sunny days – when she would move around him, talking, laughing, making him dizzy. This was what drunken happiness felt like.

Happiness was azure and gold. And annoying chatter.

It was her. With him.

"I'm just swamped with work. And Carol doesn't take no for an answer. You know how it is," she explained and he nodded, not sure he believed her.

She moved from his side and put her chin on his chest and his fingers found themselves woven into her sunshine hair. She gave him a lazy smile that he couldn't help but return.

''It's nice,'' she said and her breath ghosted over his lips.

His eyes went to her mouth and his heart struggled against a sudden unwelcome grip. Confusing and unsettling.

''What is?'' he asked thickly. He detached his body from hers, his hand leaving her hair. A new distance between them.

She did not seem to mind and her head rested on his pillow.

''You not being your usual jerk self'' she giggled, oblivious to his discomfort.

''I forgot I lived with Miss Perfect,'' he smirked, happy at the change of mood.

She hit his shoulder. ''Don't you forget!'' she looked at him pointedly. ''Mr Moody.''

''I don't understand what you mean,'' he raised his eyebrows.

She shook her head and snorted. ''Oh, I'm sure you don't.'' She continued to look at him. Her smile shier. Secret almost.

She came closer, her hand reaching for his shirt, and, for some strange reason, his breath hitched. ''I want a hug,'' she said, serious. ''I need a hug.''

He did not move, her sudden proximity assaulting his farouche heart and she frowned.

''Come on, Nik. I won't bite, I promise,'' she cajoled.

''Caroline,'' he sighed when her small hand closed around the fabric of his shirt.

She held him in spite of his protests and he returned her embrace against his better judgment. He knew he was doomed to regret it.

But it was... nice.

''Thank you,'' she said against his shirt.

''You're welcome.''

She lingered against him and he realized –

he did not want her to let go.

~o~

There were days – harder days – when she hid behind colorless smiles. A stretch of the lips that never reached the heart. Blue days, white skies. A contradiction.

On those days, he did not know – he did not understand anything anymore. Her, most of all.

It was on those days that he resented her for being foolish, trusting people who were not worth the torturing thoughts. Her sadness. Mindless people who robbed him of his smiles.

His.

She was too careless, always wearing her heart on her sleeve, getting hurt, never learning her lesson, kept doing it, put herself out there. Only to be let down.

Smiled. Even when it hurt. Tears underneath the smiles.

And it was on those days that he saw.

How strong she was.

~o~

''Aren't you ever afraid of ending up alone?'' she asked.

A simple question. That came out of nowhere during one late dinner.

He looked up from his plate. ''No,'' he answered simply and truthfully.

''Of course, you don't,'' she smiled and reached down for her glass of water. ''And I know you won't.''

She kept saying that, one day, he would meet someone. She said it like she believed it. Like she hoped he would. Meet someone. And it annoyed him to no end. It even made him angry sometimes.

''Why would I want to be attached to someone?''

He did not need a girl. He did not need the unnecessary complication, the doubts, the false promises. He did not care for it. And he certainly did not fall in love.

Besides, he already had a girl.

A girl had already rocked his world. Or maybe he had rocked hers. A pretty girl with a green dress, messy blonde hair and chapped knees. His fault. She had looked so perfect that he had wanted to ruffle her a little bit. And he had riled her up just enough. And did not regret it one bit.

''I don't know,'' she shrugged. ''Don't you think it would be sad?''

Nonsense.

''Sad? What is sad is how pathetic people are. How people act when they think they're in love,'' he said. With too much force, he realized.

Only too late.

''You think I'm pathetic?'' she asked, as if slapped by his words.

''That's not what I meant,'' he objected.

It was not.

''This is exactly what you meant!'' she glared from her side of the couch.

''Caroline,'' he sighed, ''you're overreacting.''

Oh, Klaus...

Judging by her flush and the way her eyes narrowed, he just knew he had said something stupid.

Too late!

~o~

He found her sitting on her bed, surrounded by a mess of tangled sheets and pillows. She was clad in pink shorts and an old faded black t-shirt he thought he had lost. The little thief. She was clutching one pillow to her chest, looking alarmed.

The picture she made did all sorts of strange things to his heart.

''Caroline,'' he sighed. ''You can come to my room, you know. I don't mind.''

''I'm fine,'' she replied, trying to look nonchalant. And failing miserably when a lightning flash tore the sky open. She closed her eyes tightly and hid her face in the pillow.

''Caroline –''

She raised her head from the pillow. ''I told you! I'm fine!''

''No. You're mad at me,'' he stated simply.

''No,'' she turned her face away from his gaze.

She was still mad.

''Caroline –''

''Take a hint. I don't want to talk to you.''

He pinched the bridge of his nose. Alright.

There were moments in the midst of their (sometimes epic) fights when he wanted to throttle her. And there were others – much rarer – when he just wanted to hold her.

Now was one of these moments. Although –

''So, we had a little spat. I'm over it already,'' he told her with a smile, hoping she would understand that he had not meant it.

She only glared at him. ''Well, I'm not,'' she said in a false sweet voice.

The sky roared over them and she jumped. He looked at her pointedly.

''Or maybe I am after all,'' she said, standing up. ''But just so you know, you suck.''

She passed by him, still clutching her pillow, with her head held high, chin thrust forward and lips pursed.

''Isn't it my Beatles t-shirt?''

She stopped suddenly and turned toward him, with a challenging look. ''It looks better on me,'' she said tartly.

''There's no denying it,'' he agreed, as seriously as he could.

She held his gaze a second and rolled her eyes. ''You still suck,'' she retorted, with a hint of smile, before she spun on her heels.

And he followed her. Smiling like a fool.

~o~

She was bathed in light. A different light. A new light. Melting them under it. The icy daggers embedded in his flesh and heart. Filling holes. His unfeelings disappearing. Giving way. To her. Entirely. Caroline.

Caroline.

His friend.

His friend.

His hand hovered over her face shyly, drawn to her and yet so very much afraid. As if – as if she would burn him.

There she was, asleep next to him. A puzzle under his fingers.

And he did not know. He did not know anymore.

He just knew that he felt something. Something new. Something he did not understand.

He touched her cheek with the back of his hand and held his breath when she smiled in her sleep. She stirred and he snatched his hand away.

What was he doing?