Jay's expression hardens, slipping from bewilderment to indignation. "No," he blurts. "What are you - no. Nobody's locking you up, Tim, jesus."
He still feels sick when he thinks about Entry 66. He can't even imagine, doesn't want to, wants to avoid thinking about it as much as he can, Tim curled up in the corner losing his absolute shit drowning in that fucked up childhood, trapped in those little rooms.
And all Jay could say about it was you're not like Alex, at least not entirely.
"Look, if you - if that happens, then we'll deal with it," he says. "Somehow. But you don't deserve that."
He feels weird, strangely exposed, speaking so vehemently about this. He draws a breath and shrinks a little, curling inward. "We'll figure something out," he murmurs.
no subject
He still feels sick when he thinks about Entry 66. He can't even imagine, doesn't want to, wants to avoid thinking about it as much as he can, Tim curled up in the corner losing his absolute shit drowning in that fucked up childhood, trapped in those little rooms.
And all Jay could say about it was you're not like Alex, at least not entirely.
"Look, if you - if that happens, then we'll deal with it," he says. "Somehow. But you don't deserve that."
He feels weird, strangely exposed, speaking so vehemently about this. He draws a breath and shrinks a little, curling inward. "We'll figure something out," he murmurs.