[what would he be doing if he weren't here right now, if tim hadn't welcomed him with open arms? probably shoved it down, drank half a bottle and stumbled into his own lonely bed. it's no small mercy the way tim makes it look so easy to care for him now, lips pressing against his fingertip and flitting around the room to get him water, clothes, to bend down and make him comfortable by half undressing him. it's muscle memory to roll onto his side, sliding down and pressing his face against the top of tim's chest so he can bury himself there like it's his favorite pillow. there's a soft noise of contentment, arms clutching around his middle and eyes squeezing shut for a moment just to relish it - knowing deep down this is what he's been missing, what he'll keep missing if he refuses to let tim in.

but the thought of losing him the way he's lost senator smith is equally terrifying, enough for his eyes to flutter open again and fingers to flex against his sides.]

It's alright. What you told me - it's enough. I can guess.

[he should leave it at that, keep himself awake as long as possible so he can prolong this stolen moment of bliss. but - ]

Thank you, Skippy.

[not just for the details, the reassurance. but for the physical too: inviting him in, letting him be here. holding him, keeping him safe and placated and putting aside the hurt even if he doesn't deserve it. his voice lowers into a pained murmur, almost a whisper as his lips drag absently against the seam between his pectorals.]

I - miss you somethin' terrible. Every day. I'm sorry.