While Klaus waits to see if he's dumped too much on his younger self and only exacerbated a problem that he was trying valiantly to help patch up, he busies his own hands with setting up his coffee. Two creamers, then four packets of sugar, a bit of a stir, another packet of sugar. Opens a third creamer and drinks it straight like a shot of vodka. Takes another sip of his coffee and sighs contentedly, holding it between his two hands, letting the warmth seep into his fingers, which always seem to feel cold.
Then the kid is talking, and Klaus turns to look at him for a moment, eyes searching the younger boy's face while he talks. While he processes the things that Klaus just told him, asks how many times Klaus has overdosed. For a moment, he tries to count, and then he doesn't anymore because the fact he can't remember if he's missing some is a little unnerving. And it hits home for him, too, in that moment. That all of this is part of why he's getting sober, because almost dying had gotten commonplace, enough that he just forgets about it in the haze of highs and the valleys between, where his whole life consists of trying to find the next high. Like an animal.
"There's nothing to be ashamed of."
He says it, quietly and more seriously than anything else he's said this morning, maybe more seriously than anything he's said in the past few years.
"So don't worry about that. You've got problems, you're trying to fix them best you know how, and no one taught you any better way to do it. Your dad was a sadistic prick, your siblings had their own issues, so don't you be ashamed of trying to keep yourself sane, okay?"
He realizes he's breathing heavy, chest rising and falling fast and a little shallow, his heartbeat fluttering under his breastbone, too fast. He turns a little in the booth, so he can look at the kid, even though he doubts the kid will be looking back at him.
"Doesn't mean it's okay or it's the right thing to do. I won't tell you that. It's no kind of life to be living, and that's how almost dying stops being a big deal."
A pause, and he feels his eyes go wet and red around the edges because things hurt so much more when you're sober. And things matter so much more when you're sober.
"You deserve better than that. And everything is gonna be okay."
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Then the kid is talking, and Klaus turns to look at him for a moment, eyes searching the younger boy's face while he talks. While he processes the things that Klaus just told him, asks how many times Klaus has overdosed. For a moment, he tries to count, and then he doesn't anymore because the fact he can't remember if he's missing some is a little unnerving. And it hits home for him, too, in that moment. That all of this is part of why he's getting sober, because almost dying had gotten commonplace, enough that he just forgets about it in the haze of highs and the valleys between, where his whole life consists of trying to find the next high. Like an animal.
"There's nothing to be ashamed of."
He says it, quietly and more seriously than anything else he's said this morning, maybe more seriously than anything he's said in the past few years.
"So don't worry about that. You've got problems, you're trying to fix them best you know how, and no one taught you any better way to do it. Your dad was a sadistic prick, your siblings had their own issues, so don't you be ashamed of trying to keep yourself sane, okay?"
He realizes he's breathing heavy, chest rising and falling fast and a little shallow, his heartbeat fluttering under his breastbone, too fast. He turns a little in the booth, so he can look at the kid, even though he doubts the kid will be looking back at him.
"Doesn't mean it's okay or it's the right thing to do. I won't tell you that. It's no kind of life to be living, and that's how almost dying stops being a big deal."
A pause, and he feels his eyes go wet and red around the edges because things hurt so much more when you're sober. And things matter so much more when you're sober.
"You deserve better than that. And everything is gonna be okay."