Oh, thank God, he tells himself, visibly relaxing when the teen agrees to smoke with him. It's a small, temporary solution to a much bigger problem (like putting a bandaid on a bullet hole), but they'll come back to that... eventually. Klaus wants to be able to reassure him that it more than likely won't matter about what he knows here since the timelines will reset when he goes home. Will it really? He doesn't honestly know, but it's what he'll say and so far, he hasn't been wrong all the time.

Bizarrely, part of him hopes little Klaus remembers, so he has a small something to cushion the blow once he does return home because he wouldn't wish this feeling on anyone for a first time, let alone a second. Yet another bridge that will have to be crossed once it comes.

He pops the spliff between his lips and leans toward the flame, taking care to not singe any important bits while he lights it. One hit, then a second – maybe half of a third – then he aims the smoke toward the ceiling when he exhales, passing the joint with a pleased hum. "I know it won't help forever, but... it's something for now."