Tim can't really help the shiver when tiny, undersized, cold-feeted Jay crawls onto his palm and sits there like some absurd pet bird or something. He looks just as uncomfortable with this set-up as Tim is. Okay. So this is weird for both of them. Good to know.

He stands up slowly, unable to really help the slight pitches and wobbles of his hand that come with movement, and Tim's never really been aware until just now how much his hand moves when he's just trying to walk across the room and not shift his hand a whole fucking lot.

A steady advance upon the table and a whole lot of muttered 'fucking goddamnit's later, Tim rests his open hand on the table and breathes out a tiny sigh of relief. Success. Sort of.