Tonight, when Klaus stumbles across his younger self, he's obviously far more wired than usual, muttering to himself (or so it seems?) as he toes out of his sneakers, pivots on the ball of his foot and— Oh, shit, there's a little Number Four there.

"Oh," he notes, bringing his arms together so he can rub the inside of his wrist with his thumb. Fuck, he hopes he didn't look suspicious at all. "Having trouble sleeping again, huh?" And maybe if he acts like he's not high as a damn kite, the teenager won't call him out if he'd heard him talking to nothing.

The only problem: he's never been all that great with acting, and he imagines if anyone were going to be able to see right through him, it'd be his counterpart. He strides over, picks up a domino or two, click-clacks them together by rolling his fingers. "Wanna play for a while?"