Fucking hell, you goddamn idiot, his inner-self screams (or was that an actual voice? Ben? he can't tell), fingers clenching white-knuckle tight around the items between them. His eyes frantically dart between the floor, his painted toenails, the other Klaus, and the quite obvious thing he's said they'd all been so careful to avoid.

But maybe it's time to legitimately address the elephant in the room. Nobody wants to be the one to do it, except this halfwitted chatterbox, it'd seem-- and he has already stuck his foot in his mouth, so why stop there? "Do you see him around here? No, of course not!" Klaus shouldn't – really knows he shouldn't – ends up glancing around them anyway, like he has to make sure Ben's not there.

The dominoes hit the floor, both hands reaching to clutch the sides of his head then he follows suit, crouching low, knees against his chest while he tries to stop the suddenly spinning room. "Jesus Christ," he mutters, careful to keep an eye on where his counter-part still is. "You know we say stupid shit all the time, right?"