Shoulders hiked up, he turns to face the source of the noise--Tim, that's Tim. The cold prickles at his arms, even under the sweatshirt, and he crosses them over his chest.

He thinks he made some kind of noise of acknowledgement, a hum and a tilt of the head, but he's still not sure, not with the fizzing in his skull as loud as it is. His thoughts are jumbled; something interrupted something and now everything's out of order.

It's sunny outside. He's in the garden. Still in the garden.

The camera--? He reaches for it, and his hand hits familiar plastic. It's here. It's not gone. He didn't take it. It's still here.

Tim, also. Jay thinks he was here before, but something--he's coming back, he's coming back--makes it unsure.

"You're...still here?" He's not sure if it makes sense. It should make sense.