He cringes when he dominoes hit the ground, gritting his teeth in response to the clack-clack-clack as they skitter across the floor, his expression wavering. God, if it'd been as easy as going on about timeline shenanigans, he would've told younger Klaus about it a long time ago.

And yet the teen isn't wrong. Despite every single excuse he can give him, it will always be a lie, which is not fair whatsoever. He shouldn't have to tiptoe around at all, particularly not around himself, and considering he's made the stupid mistake of letting his presumptuous mouth overrun his high brain, it's only fair he accept blame. "I really fucking wish it wasn't," chokes the older clairvoyant, forcing himself to shift, stretching a hand out so he can clasp his adolescent self's wrist. "And I'm sorry, but it is."