The garage is cold, and the air in here cases a shiver to snap down his spine. He finds a place to set the glass in his hand so he can wrap his arms around his middle in a futile attempt to hold in some heat. He's got nearly nothing on his bones to help with the matter.

He doesn't sit, at least not yet, but he does immediately pluck the cigarette from Doc's offering hand to take a long, deep drag from it. The silence kills him, and now with his hands more free, he can fidget more and boy, does he. He's moving in microseconds, not sure what to do from one to the next, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, from heel to toe, only barely resisting the urge to bounce in place.

He's about to burst, to say the first thing that comes to mind and let his mouth run the show again when Doc finally says something and Klaus can feel the breath he was holding finally rush to escape his lungs along with the smoke that slips out with it.

The words, though. They don't make any of this a calmer endeavour.

He's frowning, his head shaking slightly, "I-I don't... What do you mean?"