Going home means facing demons he's not quite ready to meet head on. Sure, coming to California meant removing himself from all temptation, meant a stable home and support, meant a real family instead of the shadow of one. And maybe he and Patrick had a rough go of it in the beginning, but there's something to be said about the tiny little life Klaus has made here.
He doesn't want to leave. More than anything in the whole world, he doesn't want to return to a place that has no ability to see every step he's taken to get to where he is now.
Leaning against the island, he rests his hands on the top, fidgeting with the tips of his fingers, unsure of what to do with all the nervous energy he usually pours into his words and his work. But the coffee gives him something to do and he follows behind Patrick to gather up a mug for himself. He drinks from it immediately, ignoring the way it burns a path straight to his stomach.
"I'll look after her, I promise," he says finally, sighing. "Not like the difficult shit that waits for us at home will be any worse than the first twenty years of my life, so I'm well armed for anything at this point." He snorts into his cup before he takes another long drink from it.
Something in his gut tells him this trip won't just be a simple trip home for a funeral, though. He's not sure why he thinks that or why, but he's felt these pulls before, where he wakes with the sinking dread of another sibling leaving long before they announce it, where he wakes knowing that the doors of the Academy might lock behind him for good for the last time. These are things he knows, and something about the future leaves the same, warning pool of dread resting deep in his belly.
"I don't think I ever said it before, but I'm glad you decided to let me live in your spare room like a decrepit stepchild for a while there. I know it was touch and go there for a while because, wow, was I a hot mess and a half, but. Well, earning your trust was one of the best things that could have come from that twenty-something disaster, so."
Klaus raises one shoulder in a half shrug, eyes focused on his coffee before he dares look up and across from him. The dread in his stomach swirls sickly, and for the first time since his arrival in this place he feels real fear; the sudden, swift punch of something that forms a lump in his throat and threatens to wreck the strange pocket of peace he's found here in their home.
"Frankly, I'd probably be dead by now if both of you hadn't let me stay. Well, maybe. I have a funny habit of giving death the good old slip, so maybe not, but you know what I mean." He laughs and turns his mug between his palms, soaking up the warmth into cold hands.
"I don't know. Guess I lost my train of thought, really, but I just thought you should know that. Thank you, I think are the words I was trying for but they feel so trite and cheesy, ugh."
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He doesn't want to leave. More than anything in the whole world, he doesn't want to return to a place that has no ability to see every step he's taken to get to where he is now.
Leaning against the island, he rests his hands on the top, fidgeting with the tips of his fingers, unsure of what to do with all the nervous energy he usually pours into his words and his work. But the coffee gives him something to do and he follows behind Patrick to gather up a mug for himself. He drinks from it immediately, ignoring the way it burns a path straight to his stomach.
"I'll look after her, I promise," he says finally, sighing. "Not like the difficult shit that waits for us at home will be any worse than the first twenty years of my life, so I'm well armed for anything at this point." He snorts into his cup before he takes another long drink from it.
Something in his gut tells him this trip won't just be a simple trip home for a funeral, though. He's not sure why he thinks that or why, but he's felt these pulls before, where he wakes with the sinking dread of another sibling leaving long before they announce it, where he wakes knowing that the doors of the Academy might lock behind him for good for the last time. These are things he knows, and something about the future leaves the same, warning pool of dread resting deep in his belly.
"I don't think I ever said it before, but I'm glad you decided to let me live in your spare room like a decrepit stepchild for a while there. I know it was touch and go there for a while because, wow, was I a hot mess and a half, but. Well, earning your trust was one of the best things that could have come from that twenty-something disaster, so."
Klaus raises one shoulder in a half shrug, eyes focused on his coffee before he dares look up and across from him. The dread in his stomach swirls sickly, and for the first time since his arrival in this place he feels real fear; the sudden, swift punch of something that forms a lump in his throat and threatens to wreck the strange pocket of peace he's found here in their home.
"Frankly, I'd probably be dead by now if both of you hadn't let me stay. Well, maybe. I have a funny habit of giving death the good old slip, so maybe not, but you know what I mean." He laughs and turns his mug between his palms, soaking up the warmth into cold hands.
"I don't know. Guess I lost my train of thought, really, but I just thought you should know that. Thank you, I think are the words I was trying for but they feel so trite and cheesy, ugh."