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1302 8-5491 Thomasen Number Five

boarding house: room five

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Day 028 - Boarding house, Room 5 - post-1306 dinner

[bestfuneralever]

[in response to this.]
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Klaus is well into the floaty feeling of the moonshine from earlier in the night. Good food and good company do so easily go hand in hand, and tonight had been good, it was fun, it felt.... almost normal. As close to normal as he would ever have rights to, anyway.

Still. That isn't to say the night went completely unblemished. The moment with Malcolm still rings in his ears, that absolutely mortified look on his friend's-- they were, weren't they? He thinks so... -- face had said everything even before he went in explanation overdrive.

And of course... everything he'd dropped in the laps of everyone at dinner about Five. Overstepping, as always. And he really hadn't meant it in a harmful way, he was just... answering the question. Albeit with details that maybe didn't need to be pointed out, but... it was just meant to be innocent.

Klaus isn't as stupid as people so frequently assume him to be, he understands it. Delores. What she meant to Five. Why she was important. How fractured his mind had become in its efforts to still cling to some piece of his own sanity, and humanity, both, during all those isolated years in a post-Apocalypse world. Klaus can barely process the idea of being well and truly, completely alone for longer than he, himself, had even been alive. Sure, feeling alone in a crowd of people is basically a Hargreeves family trait, but-- well. It's still not the same as what Five had lived through.

He's draped across his bed, curled under the blankets and flopped onto his side so he's facing away from the wall, where he can see Five regardless of where he is in their small, shared room. He does that most nights, whenever he isn't already passed out. Keeping track of his brother is... the kind of comfort he never really would have understood, until the last three or so years had happened. His sleep is largely restless most days, but the soft sounds of Five mumbling to himself, or scrawling on the wall with chalk, the rustling of papers he's messing with are the things that lull him back to sleep, despite those cold, empty nightmares that have plagued him since the first night he'd slept in his weeklong fit of chronic insomnia.

Klaus wants to say something, to apologize again, properly, about everything he'd said. But every time he opens his mouth to try, the words die on his lips. So, instead, this time, he just says, "We should do stuff like that more often." With those guys. With people here at the boardinghouse. Everyone. Whoever. Klaus didn't care, he just craved it in ways he can't even explain to people.