He takes another hit before passing it back. The silence that sits between them is heavy and it's hard to deal with, because he really doesn't know what to say, but he can't stand listening to all of the nothing trying to suffocate the room, either. How do you skip topics after a conversation--and full-blown breakdown--like that, though? He fidgets a little and glances around the room, trying to find something, anything that might be good enough to fumble through until everything feels less knife-sharp rip in his chest.

The dominoes.
They were gonna play. Before.

He shoves both hands through his hair before he pushes himself up on his knees to shift and move back over to the pile of tiles, dragging seven of them toward himself and setting them up. He doesn't care if Klaus follows suit or not. If he does, great, they'll play; if not, then he'll just start setting them up in some design or another to knock over for the sake of something to do.