He huffs a soft noise from the back of his throat. "Guess not..." Honestly? He'd thought that's what it was-- a gentle teasing sort of chide of all the incessant idle chatter that never quite amounted to anything other than just that: Useless talk for the sake of it. Recounting stupid stories from years ago that were probably more sad than they were funny if anyone thought about it too long or too hard-- but Klaus has a way of making things funny, so it probably went over well enough all the same.

He nods, which moves Negan's head along with his own for how they're sitting. "Yeah... distractions are good." Negan is good at providing the kind of distractions that turn off all the over-thinking parts of his brain; lets him only focus on the way rough, calloused hands feel sliding over smooth, too-bony hips and the intimate dance of two bodies between the sheets. Maybe it isn't the best coping mechanism, but who has any legitimately good ones around here anyway? Shouldn't they at least make them feel good?