[Klaus has been alone before, and hoofing it without Ben being tethered to him isn't completely foreign in concept, but generally he's... a lot less conscious of his surroundings when Ben isn't around. Right now, they've separated, however that works, and Klaus happens to have foolishly committed himself to trying out this whole being sober for real thing, and it... feels weird.

Feels weird to feel that itch at the base of his skull and that budding migraine and that dry feeling in his mouth without a voice reminding him to breathe.

Speaking of.

While Klaus is distracting himself from his fears by biting at his fingernails (and trying to play it off as casual, lamenting slightly that he now lacks anything to replace the polish on there afterward), he, uh, sure overhears someone panicking in the forest. It's a sound you don't forget after long enough in inpatient—a sound of agitation so viral it could probably be classified as bio-warfare.

He accidentally worsens a hangnail, makes a displeased noise at it, and then rounds the tree to the guy on the floor. He crouches down in front of him, trying to not actually startle him by appearing too suddenly.]

Hey. Hey, hey. Count your breathing. One to four in, one to four out.

[And... okay, time to dig in the new bag.

Klaus pulls out a roll of... nondescript cloth. Sure, okay.]

Here. You know how to do the... concentrate on texture thing?

[Yeah, he's not perfect on this side of things either, sue him. At least he's trying?

That might change once he realizes the object of this guy's fear is still very much present.]