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Summary
𝘥𝘰 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘶𝘴𝘤𝘪𝘵𝘢𝘵𝘦.
When Diego had first seen it, he had thought nothing of it. Klaus had plenty of tattoos- on his back, his hands, his shoulders- this one on his chest was nothing out of the ordinary. Klaus had always seemed to straddle the line between life and death-- embraced it, even. He made jokes of the macabre, dressed in dark clothes, and ringed his eyes in black eyeliner. Klaus had always joked, when they were younger, that he danced with death. He would sweep around the living room, arms around no one, bobbing his head to a tune only he could hear.
This one particular mark, stark and plain over Klaus’ heart, hadn’t seemed anything out of the ordinary-- ordinary for Klaus, anyways.