"Well, when you put it like that..." He scoffs softly and takes one last, long drag from his cigarette before discarding of the butt. He's quiet for a moment, mulling over that last part of what the older man was saying. He can't imagine it's any better of an experience for Five, than it was for him, to find him dead. Maybe worse... Klaus closes his arms around his middle, remember the way it felt when he was yanked backwards by his ribs with those awful, ripping claws.

He shrugs, "After thirty years, you just kinda get used to it." That's what he's resigned himself to, because it's what always happens. It's why he still, even a month or so into this place, still ends up surprised by people genuinely seeming to want him around. He hadn't had that with his father, nor his siblings, and certainly not anywhere he wandered after he left home.

It's a good feeling. Being wanted. He worries about getting too used to it, even among the trauma of this place. What happens if-when they ever get out, go home, and everything goes back to the way it always was. Having the better side of it to compare to will make the rest hurt that much worse when it comes.