I realize it's been a long time since I've written anything with this story, so if there are any discrepancies, feel free to point them out.  Please tell me what you think! 

********

I bit the inside of my cheek and lowered my gaze back to the boxes strewn around me. My breath grew leaden inside my chest and I reached for my phone.

The sound of a door opening from behind made me whip around just as a blur tore through the room. 

A scream found its way from me, echoing through the gymnasium.  I shut my eyes.

"Now she frightens easily," came a very familiar drawl, and I looked up to find Klaus eyeing me curiously.  His brows were slightly raised and a smirk toyed at the corners of his lips, moments from making itself known. Same black coat and button-down undershirt. The heaviness in my chest evaporated and though I could breathe normally again, my heart pounded for an entirely different reason.

Suddenly, Klaus was right there, crouching beside me, hand on my shoulder. His sea-green eyes were pinched. "Are you all right?"

My heartbeat, I realized. He can hear it. 

Knowing that somehow made it worse and quickly swallowed my tickle of nerves. I managed a curt nod. "Yeah. I just wasn't expecting you to breeze into my school today. How did you know where I was?"

He smirked, brow lifting slightly. "I have my resources."

"Could you . . ." I wiggled my fingers at him. "Sense me or something?"

That smirk didn't fade. "Or something."

I rolled my eyes, letting the box have all my attention. "You're even more cryptic today than usual," I noted as I pulled out streamers and packets of balloons. I looked at the items distastefully. "This is supposed to be a prom, not a ten-dollar budget for a night of bingo."

"Not a fan of contemporary adornments?" he asked, tilting his head towards me. Gently, he  reached out and touched one of the blue streamers, rubbing it between his index finger and thumb, pensive. "I will confess, they are rather . . . homely, compared to the festive recherche I could regale you with." 

I swallowed, his proximity suddenly very distracting. "Nice vocabulary word," I muttered, trying my best not to stare blatantly into his eyes and only sort of failing. I blinked and quickly shook my head. "And no, contemporary is fine. Cheap on the other hand is unacceptable." 

The corner of his lip tilted up in that taunting, teasing way of his, the look that captivated me as much as it infuriated me. "I don't suppose this would be an endeavor you would allow me to lend a hand with?" he suggested.

I narrowed my eyes at him. "Aren't proms a little . . . old school for you? Or amateur?" I asked, not wanting to be bluntly insensitive to his age. Then again, could immortals be offended by age comments?  It's not like it showed. 

That echo of a smile grew. "Dances have been around for millennia, predating even myself. But I admit, it has been a decade or two since I last attended something so blissfully trivial."

I stared at him. Now it was my turn to be offended. "Prom is not trivial," I ground through my teeth, a little more sharp than I'd intended, judging by the way his brows rose. "It is an important milestone in the high school experience."

That smile of his burst into an outright grin. "You're very passionate about this."

"I'm on the committee," I explained. "And if this looks tacky, it will be my responsibility. And I don't. Do. Tacky."

He nodded, bemused, like a parent patronizing a child. "I see. And so you seek to deprive me the human luxury of helping you make this night unforgettable because you fear my input would render your dance . . . something inferior to your standards?" 

My irritation spiked. What, was he utterly incapable of speaking the English of this century? As if the accent and the look weren't enough, he had to be a walking Jane Austen character. I shook my head and smiled sourly. "That depends. Are you saying I need your help in order to make it unforgettable?" 

That insufferable smirk never wavered. "Oh, I'm sure you will do a fine job on your own, Caroline." He shrugged nonchalantly. "And if that's what you'd prefer, I can just leave you to it." 

I watched as he stood up, frustrated with myself. With the decorations. With the nagging fact that I didn't actually want him to leave.

He turned around. 

"Wait," I murmured, almost begrudgingly. I glanced between him and the mediocre adornments, as if weighing my options. As if I had other options. "You really know how to throw a party?"

Klaus turned towards me, and the look of gratification on his face was almost enough for me to yank back my words and swallow them. "That was the general consensus, yes."

Well, at least he could still manage a little humility.

"I believe I recall Queen Victoria raving about it, once or twice, in The Times," he added. His grin broadened, just a fraction, completely confident and irritatingly smug.

"'The Queen,'" I reiterated dumbly.

If he tried to wipe the look of bemusement off his face, he gave no show of it. Instead, he lifted his shoulders in a small shrug. 

So much for humility. 

"Well, I hate to burst your bubble, but we don't have any queens here. The only people to be impressed at this party are a couple hundred teenagers and a school board of underpaid teachers." 

Those dimples deepened. "A task rife with challenge, no doubt."

I studied him, half curious, half bewildered. "And what do you think your alleged enemies would say if they heard that you were busy . . . planning a high school prom? Won't that put a dent in your reputation as an ancient menace?" 

That smile lessened, the amusement in his sharp eyes fading some. "Perhaps I just find entertainment in less conventional ways. If ever they become so curious as to venture close . . . how quickly they will wish that they hadn't." 

I smiled nervously, and wondered exactly what it was that I was getting myself into. 

***********

"The Renaissance? That's what you think the theme should be?"

The corner of his lips turned up as we made our way down the next isle, Klaus appraising the walls of decorations. He paused every now and then to touch a bolt of silk, brocade, satin. "Does that surprise you?" He rubbed the satin between his fingers before letting it go, apparently dissatisfied. 

I pursed my lips. It felt strange, to say the least, knowing I was walking around a store with a man who just so happened to also be an ancient vampire. I couldn't help but think he belonged in a book like Twilight, not beside me, perusing the shelves in Antiques & Stuff. 

No. This was as ludicrous and out-of-place as a barking cat, or snow in the Sahara. 

And yet, it was happening.

"Is that the era you grew up in?" I asked. It was a weird question for an equally weird setting, but  I was strangely growing used to it all. Well, with the exception of our prom planning; that would probably take me a few more days to fully wrap my head around.

Klaus reached for a textile this time, his touch light. Almost . . . delicate. When he let go, the fabric floated back to its place as if it were a feather, and I found myself staring at him, intrigued by this self-proclaimed villain whose touch was as gentle as chiffon.

"No." He lifted his gaze to mine, his blue eyes sparkling. "But it is a particular favorite of mine. I am convinced there were fewer times more revolutionary than that. Such art. Such beauty. Well, except, perhaps, for the roaring twenties."

I didn't realize I was still staring until that smirk turned into its usual amused grin, and I blinked, irritated with myself. "I'll take your word for it," I mumbled, before deliberately moving past him, as if he couldn't see the red in my cheeks. I reached for a random bolt of cloth, inspecting it like I was an expert. "So when were you born then? Exactly? I mean, I know you said you were a thousand years old, but all the time periods don't exactly come roaring back to me."

The sudden silence had me looking up, and I saw that his expression had abruptly dimmed. The amusement was gone. In its place was something else now, but I couldn't catch it beyond the hardness in the same eyes that had just been so full of stars. 

I wondered if those doors were about to slam shut on me again. Lock me out. It wouldn't be the first time. 

"No," he admitted, his attention fixed on the shelves. "I entered the world at a much darker time."

I tried to mask my look of surprise. Even more my curiosity. "Do you want to tell me about it?" I asked as nonchalantly as I could, staring at my piece of fabric. I honestly couldn't tell if it was cotton or wool, what with my attention so fixed on the man beside me. And when he didn't speak immediately, I gave up and looked at him.

Klaus's lips pressed into a thin line, the muscle in his jaw working. "It's nothing you would want to hear about. Trust me."

Annoyed, I wanted to tell him that yes, actually, I did want to hear it. That it wasn't fair for him to assume anything on my behalf. But before I could get a single word of it out, he disappeared, only to materialize a second later, white fingers clutched around two bolts of fabric. "Now then, I recommend the chiffon," he said brusquely, sparing me a single look before striding to the register.

And just like that, I saw the doors were closing, the sliver of light fading like the sun.  

********

The warning bells were ringing. 

Klaus could hear them, like distant peals of thunder. It was getting on his nerves almost as much as it had begun to weigh on them. 

And it had been weighing on him.

He glanced down, into the glass tumbler he held between clasped hands, its amber contents encasing his own reflection in gold.

But what was he supposed to do? He wasn't about to leave now. Not yet anyway, despite the hands making their way around the clock.

Tick, tick, tick. 

He tilted the glass tumbler back, emptying it of the last traces of bourbon.

No, he still had time. Not much, but some. He was likely to regret it all later, but he already had lifetimes' worth of regrets. 

What was one more?