[ Ben is aware of how pathetic he is being, but it is just easier to be passive, to let Klaus give him food and coax him into the other room. He sits on the edge of the bed with Klaus, hands over the protein bar, though he says while he does: ]
I know how to open a wrapper, I'm not a complete idiot.
[ But he lets Klaus open it for him all the same, drinking the rest of the water diligently. The mechanics of it are so much more involved than he'd remembered - the acute sensation of temperature, swallowing, timing it around needing to breathe too. A dozen tiny things that were automatic for living people, would be automatic for him too, eventually, he hopes.
He sets the glass down on the little table by Klaus's bed, opening his mouth to apologize for being so needy, but the words won't come. All he manages is a small: ]
Thanks, Klaus.
[ The experience with the protein bar is similar to the water; it isn't until he starts eating that he identifies how hungry he is. By the time he's three small bites in, he can feel it, there in his guts, twisting away, awful and awfully familiar. Ben shuts his eyes, chastising himself silently for letting it get this bad. He can't afford to forget things like this. He knows that. Knows better. Just because he's a little fucked up about being alive again isn't an excuse to endanger Klaus and Diego and whoever else might be trapped in this place.
Ben's breaths have gone very shaky. He can hear it, knows Klaus will be able to hear it. He's going to have to learn all over again how to hide these things better. But at least it is Klaus, and the room is dim-lit and Klaus isn't looking at him. Finishing the bar mechanically, Ben says, voice unsteady: ]
You're wrong. You're really good at being alive.
[ Not at thriving and succeeding in the ways others might want him to or the ways he might want to, but Klaus is a hell of a survivor. He'd gotten through two wars, survived their home (more than Ben had managed). He'd OD'd so many times and clung on. Even dying at that club hadn't stuck. Klaus has got more than just two tricks up his sleeve, Ben thinks. ]
no subject
I know how to open a wrapper, I'm not a complete idiot.
[ But he lets Klaus open it for him all the same, drinking the rest of the water diligently. The mechanics of it are so much more involved than he'd remembered - the acute sensation of temperature, swallowing, timing it around needing to breathe too. A dozen tiny things that were automatic for living people, would be automatic for him too, eventually, he hopes.
He sets the glass down on the little table by Klaus's bed, opening his mouth to apologize for being so needy, but the words won't come. All he manages is a small: ]
Thanks, Klaus.
[ The experience with the protein bar is similar to the water; it isn't until he starts eating that he identifies how hungry he is. By the time he's three small bites in, he can feel it, there in his guts, twisting away, awful and awfully familiar. Ben shuts his eyes, chastising himself silently for letting it get this bad. He can't afford to forget things like this. He knows that. Knows better. Just because he's a little fucked up about being alive again isn't an excuse to endanger Klaus and Diego and whoever else might be trapped in this place.
Ben's breaths have gone very shaky. He can hear it, knows Klaus will be able to hear it. He's going to have to learn all over again how to hide these things better. But at least it is Klaus, and the room is dim-lit and Klaus isn't looking at him. Finishing the bar mechanically, Ben says, voice unsteady: ]
You're wrong. You're really good at being alive.
[ Not at thriving and succeeding in the ways others might want him to or the ways he might want to, but Klaus is a hell of a survivor. He'd gotten through two wars, survived their home (more than Ben had managed). He'd OD'd so many times and clung on. Even dying at that club hadn't stuck. Klaus has got more than just two tricks up his sleeve, Ben thinks. ]