Tim snorts quietly and wordlessly starts rummaging through his bag in search of a shirt. Yeah. They're being so honest with each other today, aren't they. That's new. But the guy is fucking tiny and Tim doesn't want him in his pants pocket either, so it's really in their best interest for him to go along with it.

Thankfully he still has the plaid shirt he arrived in, complete with pockets on its front. They're pretty small but then, so's Jay, and this is their life now.

He's pretty sure the shirt reeks of nicotine, but he can't really find it in himself to care. He returns with an exaggerated swish of one hand, like presenting himself to a committee, and awaits Jay's approval or, more likely, disapproval.