The previous night, Takeshi had graciously left when asked. He knew just how important sleep could be.

Apparently, Clarius didn't.

That same night that Takeshi had left the room of those who he'd found after a long ordeal of searching, that same night that Takeshi wished more than anything to get a good night's sleep, that same night that Takeshi had flopped onto his bed the instant he returned to his room, Clarius refused to allow the poor young man to sleep. Of course, it was nothing like Clarius forcing his roommate to stay awake, no. It was unlikely that he even intended to mess up Takeshi's sleeping habits whatsoever. However, he had kept the light on the whole night and had stayed awake, formulating theories listening for any strange noises.

This kept Takeshi from getting his oh-so-dear hours of rest. And beyond even that, Claire had the nerve to, come morning, ask the poor red-haired fellow to return, in his stead, to the room he had just visited the night prior and conduct an interview with the man with whom Claire himself had intended to conduct an interview with. Basically, he was forcing Takeshi to be his little errand-boy.

But, Takeshi could understand why he would do this. He was treated like a slave by his sister on a daily basis. It was only natural to do the same to his close friend to regain some sense of control. Maybe. 

Or maybe Clarius was just being an asshat. Either one was a possibility.

In the time Takeshi had taken to ponder these possibilities, he had arrived at the door leading to Daniel and Weisse's room. It was somewhat early in the morning. They might have been asleep. They both had weapons. Takeshi did not want to wake them. If he did, it would likely appear rude. Takeshi did not want to appear rude in front of two people who had weapons. All he had to fight with were two mugs (one read "World's Dumbest Brat"(given to him by his father last Christmas), the other "World's Sleaziest Douche"(to be given to his father the coming Christmas)) filled with a near-boiling black liquid that wafted a truly magnificent aroma.

Instant coffee.

Transplanting one of his mugs into his other hand, such that he was carrying both in his left and had his right open for use, he mustered up a great deal of courage, formulated a battle plan if he was double-teamed by armed teenagers (mostly involving hot coffee to the face and/or groin), reached out in front of him, and knocked on the door.