That's definitely the sound of a struggle out there. Tim presses his ear to the door, ignoring the way it chills at the skin of his cheek. There's the shuffle of feet, and then something that sounds suspiciously like a struggle. Slippershod feet shifting across the bleached tile, the clatter of the cart wheels rolling haphazardly as people bump into them, and then -

"Let me go!"

Running footsteps bolt past his door. Tim jerks back with such force that he ends up flat on his ass. But the jangle of keys rattling in the lock is unmistakable.

Son of a bitch.

He really did it.

No one else would be unlocking his door now if that weren't the case.

Regardless, Tim can't keep the disbelief from his voice as he says it again, louder: "Jay?