your last | klaroline

moscow

                                 your last
                        chapter nineteen
                                 moscow

It's dark by the time the plane lands.

This is one of the few times in life when reality seems altered; surreal, as the wailing of sirens in the distance echoes through my ears. Hundreds of people, speaking hundreds of languages, pushing roughly past me, eager to get where they're going. Usually, I wouldn't allow them to do that, but my eyes are heavy with sleep, and I'm too exhausted to retaliate.

I can't say the same for Klaus.

The crowds almost clear a pathway for him, his menacing glare enough to make them steer clear. His fingers wrapped tightly around my wrist, he tugs me through the ill-lit airport, me stumbling to keep up at his side.

I expect the crowds to die once we exit the airport. But, my eyes wide, I watch as the crowds grow larger and larger as we stumble into a taxi. Klaus's harsh whispers in another language surprise me. There is almost no trace of his usual british accent in his rough tone.

I don't miss the sign hanging in front of the airport as we drive away. Moscow, Russia.

Klaus keeps his gaze locked out the window as we drive, watching as the amount of people lessens. I try to do the same, but I can't help but sneak an occasional glance in his direction. His expression is hard; rough, but not angry. We drive until we reach a fairly urban neighbourhood; less populated, yet still appealing. Klaus grabs my hand and drags me out of the taxi.

I don't pay attention to where we're going. The next thing I know, Klaus is speaking Russian again, this time, to a young looking female hotel employee. Again, he grabs my wrist, and I follow him up the stairs, moonlight pouring through the old-fashioned glass windows. He seems almost in a hurry- where are we going?

He stops at a hotel room, pushing it open lightly with his thumb. The pleasant scent of linen greets me, and I relax into the room, kicking off my shoes and stumbling until I reach a bed.

I don't think. I just crawl under the covers, feeling myself give away to sleep.
But I don't miss Klaus's quiet whispers, soft as his lips come closer to my ears.

"Sweet dreams, love."

And I'm out like a light.
                                     +++
When I wake, it seems like I haven't slept a wink.

I feel hardly rested; on edge, but relaxed as my eyes shoot open, taking in my surroundings. Yet, I feel awake as ever and excited to begin the day.

Frost coats the exterior of the sheer glass windows, dotting along the edge of the buildings like vines. I shouldn't be surprised, seeing as it's late November, but I've forgotten all about my excitement for snow as events progressed.

Suitcases are placed delicately at the side of the room, closed firmly shut. Klaus must have put them there yesterday. What time is it?

I roll over, groaning at the unpleasant soreness in my feet after walking what seemed like miles the day prior. My fingers grope the bedside table for my phone, but what means to just be a quick check of the time turns into a full-on conversation with Rebekah. Did I forget to tell her I was leaving?

Ignoring all the missed calls from my friends and family in Mystic Falls, despite the pang in my chest, I check the messages Rebekah's texted me.

Where are you and Nik?

She seems calm at first, and I huff and text her a quick, vague reply.

Moscow.

I can almost hear her eye roll as she texts me an automatic reply.

And what do you and my brother have to do in Moscow?

I glance around the room, searching for Klaus. Where is he?

He has some business here, and decided to drag me along.

I quickly shut my phone off at that, leaving it on my bedside table and kicking a leg over the bed. Slowly, I tiptoe to my suitcase, grabbing jeans and a floral shirt absentmindedly. On my way to the bathroom, the door opens, revealing a cloud of steam and a very impish Klaus.

He wears a black v-neck shirt and jeans, wet curls dripping down his forehead and leaving patches of water across his clothing. He beams almost innocently, a towel strung casually across his shoulder as he slams the door shut behind him.

"Good morning, love."

Over the month and a half I've spent with the Mikaelsons, the one thing I've concluded is that they're all morning people. Chipper every moment of the day, and have some tolerance to alcohol that I will never understand. Kol is the one exception to every single one of these rules.

"Good morning," I answer, attempting to sound just as cheery, but it comes out like mush. I doubt he can even understand what just emerged from my mouth.

He chuckles, throwing the towel haphazardly on the bed, where I assume he slept. For the first time, I'm noticing that there's two beds; each slept in, the sheets wrinkled and weary.

I bite the inside of my cheek. Keeping my eyes everywhere but on him, I try to stride confidently to the bathroom, clothing in hand.

Once I'm there, I rush to silently get ready, squealing under my breath as I get burned by the curling iron a total of eight times. I'm almost positive he heard every single one.

I can only hope that it's worth it as I stumble out of the bathroom. Much to my surprise, he's all ready for the day, wrapped in a simple black coat sitting patiently on the bed. I arch an eyebrow, waiting for an explanation.

"Thought we'd get an early start before we leave tomorrow. Get your coat, love."

Still slightly perplexed, I get ready in a daze, only blinking out of it once we're outside and he starts talking to me.

"We'll be taking in the city this morning. Tell me what you wish to see, and I'll have us in a taxi in no time at all."

He insists on walking instead of taking another taxi, which immediately proves itself to be a good decision. Seeing as we're not staying in the most fancy parts of the city, it's not as busy, and he watches me as I marvel at the unknown buildings. Everything here seems absolutely beautiful, intricately designed, and I'm eager to suck it all up.

"Where will we be headed next?" I ask absentmindedly a total of twenty minutes later. At my question, he just smirks, replying with a very vague yet intriguing,

"You'll see."

I don't push the subject, though I really want to know where we're going next. I assume we'll be staying in Russia, but Klaus's behaviour is absolutely unpredictable. For all I know, we could be flying to Antarctica tomorrow. There's something alluring about this; the danger and sense of rebellion that comes with not knowing what's to come.

Klaus makes it a goal to point everything out that he's seen in the past century. Oh, I was here when this was being built. Hey, I lived here for awhile. Every time, I roll my eyes and try to ignore the shivers that rush down my spine.

To others, we might seem like two foreigners, lost in the streets, admiring the statues and buildings and architecture. But in truth, Klaus has seen the city in its very beginnings, and most likely was here before their ancestors even thought about Russia.

We stumble around the streets for hours, lost in the city and each other.
                                     +++
a/n: don't know how to feel about this but whatever. sick today & spent the whole day writing