"He can come to us, if he feels like talking anytime." He glances away with a snort, dismissive. What's it matter, anyway? It wasn't like he was going to admit to anything. Just a mess of misplaced, inconsistent guilt slung together in a tangled mess underneath that hoodie, the thing he insists isn't a part of himself.

Fuck him, anyway.

And fuck him for thinking Tim would buy that.