@cxstae sent: “Is there a name for that thing where you’re afraid of something good happening ‘cause you think something bad’s gonna happen?”
“I think that’s just called, like, generalized anxiety disorder.”
He’s familiar with the term, if only from rifling through his own charts back in the day in an attempt to figure out how to score those super-powered pills they keep locked up (he never liked the clinical term, but hey, if it’ll help get him what he needs, then he’ll take any diagnosis on the docket). He knows, of course, that this is something deeper than any prescription label goes.
This is a survival skill, learning not to trust the joy, not to invest in it lest the universe decide to pull the rug from beneath their feet. Nice things just don’t happen to people like them, and the sooner Klaus figured that out, the easier it’s been to live with this sinking feeling in his stomach. He doesn’t mind it, really. Takes his wins with the small things, like waking up with both of his shoes on, finding one last cigarette in his pocket when he thought he’d run out. This whole thing with Milo is just gravy. Really really fucking good gravy that tastes like cherry vodka and makes Klaus laugh and gives mind-blowing head.
He purses his lips, digs his hand through the depths of his pocket, fishes out a condom, a lighter, and a half-eaten kit-kat bar before he finally finds what he’s looking for.
“I got somethin’ that might help?” A sad smile, as he plucks a little white pill and places it in Milo’s hand. “And maybe if we’re not too loud about it...maybe the Universe will let us keep this. Just this once.”
