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The low-spoken argument spoken between clenched teeth is what wakes you.You blink once, twice, thrice, allow your eyes the time to focus on the analog clock sitting on the nightstand next to your side of the bed. 7:02 AM.It’s still dark outside but the city is alive. Two dogs bark at each other at a high pitch. Someone lays their hand on the car horn outside. Sirens howl in the distance.You turn your head towards Klaus — staring at the red armchair near the bed where your cat usually lounges on — having a heated conversation with air. The corners of your mouth quirk up involuntarily and you try to imagine Ben sitting there, recounting the descriptions Klaus or his siblings have provided.And yet the absurd reality of Klaus having a snark competition with a literal ghost eclipses any image of Ben you can even begin to conjure up at the moment. You attempt to stifle your laugh, lips pressed together but the damage is done.Klaus cuts himself off mid-sentence and whips his head around. A lazy smile drags onto his lips and you cannot help it but smile back, twisting your upper body to relieve the stiffness in your joints. The pop of your back is almost euphoric and you quickly twist to the other side to finish the job.“Good morning, you magnificent being,” says Klaus, his knuckles ghosting the curve of your cheek. You pull back with a muffled laugh, wiggle to the other side of the bed until you’re teetering on the edge, the corner of the nightstand digging into your shoulder.“Good morning, Klaus.” You glance at the red velvet armchair, try to recall how tall Klaus is sitting in it and approximate where his head would be. “Good morning, Ben.”(Klaus has said he and Ben were (are(?)) about the same height, yet you’re not so sure Ben is shorter than him, as he likes to claim.)“Ben says good morning. He also says I snore.” Klaus shoots the armchair a venomous look and hisses under his breath. He turns back to you, shying away from the glare of the streetlamp shining from between the blinds.“You only snore when you sleep on your back. I roll you over when I hear it.”Klaus lays a hand over his heart, eyes crinkling at the corners as he smiles. “Thank you for keeping me from choking on my tongue in my sleep.”“You’re very welcome, but you cannot keep abusing my ability to avoid your brother.”He pauses, stares at you for a long moment. His hand shoots out and latches onto your wrist in the blink of an eye — curse that superhero training Reginald Hargreeves forced them to partake in — and wraps his body around yours. He presses his cold fingers into your ribs and you squeal before you manage to slap a palm in front of your mouth. The neighbors are already a nightmare to deal with; you don’t need to give them any more ammo.“Then just turn it off,” he says, lips moving against your skin. You squirm at the sensation, at the pleasant chill shooting up your spine.“Yeah? The ability I wasn’t aware of until what, 2 years ago, Einstein?”“Thank you.” Klaus presses his face into the junction between your neck and shoulder. “You know, it would be really funny to see Luther struggle to lift things; we should do that.”“I’m not holding hands with your brother to sabotage his strength.”“Fine.” You can almost feel him roll his eyes. “Never learn to turn it off, by the way.““Ah, so you’d rather be faced with the impending doom of existence than what lies beyond said existence.”“No, it’s because I love you as you are. Powers and all.” He exhales, places a barely-there kiss onto your shoulder. “It’s quiet with you,” he says then, in a mutter against your skin so low you nearly miss it. “I like quiet.”It’s still dark outside. Cars rumble as they pass by. Someone rings a bike bell.You raise your hand and tangle it into Klaus’ curls.“I love you, too.”