He was most certainly intoxicated.
Clutching the glass filled with amber coloured liquid and trying to see through the fog gripping his mind, he struggled to remember when exactly was the last time he’d been so thoroughly drunk. His fingers fumbled with the watch – the blasted watch – on his right wrist subconsciously as he realized it was impossible to remember. He took another small swig from his glass, the overly-sweet drink burning a trail down his throat and right into his stomach. He hummed contentedly at the bitter taste the beer left at the back of his mouth to replace the sugary sweetness from before. His head buzzed, his body was nearing weightlessness and all the blood was pulsing through his veins, pleasantly warm. As he reclined back into the horrid vomit – well, that was the colour he had dubbed it – chair in the sitting room of the summer house, he only pondered why it was that he didn’t get drunk more often. He was very much enjoying the light, dreamy, airy feeling – quick to omit the fact that light and airy and fuzzy later faded into head-splitting, stomach-churning hell. Then again, in over 200 years, insignificant little things like hangovers are easily forgotten. It was moments like these where he found himself vehemently cursing his unnatural powers. Dominion over time only by separating from it? He scoffed; how could anyone live with even a hint of normalcy if they were trapped at age twenty-one, without their consent, for all eternity? With an irritated huff he gulped down the rest of his glass content’s when a surprised cry caught his slightly scattered attention.
“Mon Dieu, Klause!” He managed to roll his head backwards to see the blurry form of a blonde woman come rushing around the chair to crouch beside him.
“Mein Gott, Klaus,” he corrected with barely a slur. “Your accent is showing, cherie.” She narrowed her eyes at his easy, almost mocking grin. She grabbed up the forgotten and empty glass from his hand and frowned at him, almost pouting.
“You’re drunk,” she accused, standing up and taking the bottle he’d been pouring his golden escape from into the kitchen with his glass. The only thing that escaped his mouth was a deep chuckle as she left his vision. He had half a mind to tell her she was the entire reason he was so perfectly wasted. Compared to his ‘age’, Michelle Lefevre was barely a child, a small slip of a girl he wouldn’t have been hard-pressed to ignore… If she was anyone else. For some reason, this barely-adult woman – only recently turned 18 – had captured all his attention. On a superficial level, she was very beautiful; she had deep blue eyes, wavy blonde hair, and a slim but still well endowed figure. More importantly, she was intelligent, calm and gentle but she did have a good deal of bite to accompany her bark when she was fired up. One of the things he loved the most was her musical talent – he was especially fond of her cello and flute playing – and her subtle French accent when she spoke English or he tried to teach her German. Michelle always managed to keep him on his toes and unlike all the other women over 200 years, he’d been unable to push her away.
“Klause. Klause! Listen to me!” Michelle gave his arm a gentle shake and the world refocused – well, became as clear as his bleary eyes could make things – with Michelle standing over him looking concerned. In one hand was a glass of water and in the other a pill he couldn’t exactly identify. “Venez, I think you should at least go to bed.” His brain took a moment to process what she said before he got up with a disgruntled noise and took both things from her hands before wobbling up to his room. He couldn’t remember the route for a second and had to remind himself he was at Michelle’s sister Tania's lodge to celebrate her husband’s birthday. Michelle followed along barely a step behind him, to catch him should his balance fail him entirely, all the way to his room. After a brief battle with an uncooperative doorknob, he sat down on the bed, swallowed the pill with a gulp of water and collapsed sideways onto the mattress in a heap. Michelle rolled the blanket over him a little and then slid down to sit beside him and pushed his long hair out of his face. It was at this point that he became especially aware of her narrow fingers gently brushing her cheek and the fact that he was enjoying it just a little too much. His left hand reached over to the little gear on the side of the watch, pulling it and freezing everything around him as if someone had hit the pause button. He struggled to sit up again, moving her hand carefully back to her side and wincing a little at the dizzy rush to his head. As he stared at her immobile form, he could see it plainly in her eyes; she cared about him, maybe even too much. He was nearly ashamed to admit that her feelings were reciprocated exponentially, by a man who could never offer her a stable lifestyle or grow old with her. And he didn’t want to do that to her, he couldn’t, not when she deserved so much better.
And yet, there he’d been, drinking himself into a drunken stupor because he was so damn weak.
“Michelle…” Her name fell from his lips in an entreating sigh just as his left hand fell into his coat pocket. His fingers easily found the small velvet box nestled inside. It’d been weighing down on him for days now and it was the final straw that broke him down to his alcohol binge. As he leaned towards her, one hand resting gently behind her ear and entwined in her blonde tresses, he breathed out a weak, “I love you,” that left his eyes stinging slightly. Finally, his hand clenched around the box that embodied all his weaknesses, his lips just barely touched hers. “Will you marry me?”
She’d never remember this though, he mused as he lay back down and pushed the gear back into place. He concluded it was all for the best anyways when she put her hands in her lap and began humming a tune to try to lull him to sleep, not that he needed much help at this point.
~*~*~*~**~*~*~
She stayed by his side until the moment his breathing evened out and all the tenseness of his muscles faded. She knew he was completely asleep when his hand finally stopped clutching at the wristwatch he never removed. She slid closer to him, bending at the waist to approach his cheek, her breath catching in her throat. She knew she’d felt something from him, something she recognized but couldn’t address directly – she was too afraid she was deluding herself with her own emotions for him. The last time she’d felt anything like it was when Felix, her brother-in-law, was struggling with his proposal to Tania. But the raw strength of Klaus’s emotion always hit her like a punch to the gut and she couldn’t ignore it any longer.
So, she passed his cheek completely and murmured into his ear, “Yes Klaus. A million times over, yes.”
