Yeah. He supposes so. He can't help being a little impatient.
There isn't much conversation to be made after this, and the flickering doesn't happen again, so eventually they drift back into their routine of cohabitating. It's dull. Tim at least has a body to maintain. Jay never realized how much just that went to alleviating soul-crushing boredom. Having to get up to go to the bathroom once in a while. Getting thirsty, hungry. Wanting a smoke or a shower.
He can't do any of that, he can only float around and feel uncomfortable with how voyeuristic this is. Which is ironic, and he knows it. Hell, at least Tim knows he's here, or assumes it. Not like when Jay followed him through town, waited outside his doctor's office.
Ugh.
He doesn't want to sit here and he especially doesn't to sit drowning in bad memories. He floats out of the apartment. By now Tim probably knows to wait for touch confirmation before trying to converse, so - if he does want to say something, he'll probably just... figure out Jay went somewhere. It's not like Jay doesn't have his own apartment. Tim probably wants the privacy.
Halfway down the hall to his apartment he stills. He doesn't want to go in there. Nothing but boxes and lights he can't turn on as the sun sets. Lonely, aching silence.
He wants to visit someone else. He doesn't know Bee well enough, and he's not gonna go out on his own to see Greta. Is there even anyone else in this damn building he knows?
Wait - Daine. Daine. She lives here now, now that the Base is - holy shit, does she even know he's back?
And she has dogs, and dogs can see him, and she can talk to them.
What a dumb idiot.
He thinks he can remember which apartment is hers. He floats down a few floors - it's getting a little easier to make himself sink, he notes - and drifts into her apartment. Hopefully she's there, and in a state/mood to receive company. Hoping is just about all he can do right now.
no subject
There isn't much conversation to be made after this, and the flickering doesn't happen again, so eventually they drift back into their routine of cohabitating. It's dull. Tim at least has a body to maintain. Jay never realized how much just that went to alleviating soul-crushing boredom. Having to get up to go to the bathroom once in a while. Getting thirsty, hungry. Wanting a smoke or a shower.
He can't do any of that, he can only float around and feel uncomfortable with how voyeuristic this is. Which is ironic, and he knows it. Hell, at least Tim knows he's here, or assumes it. Not like when Jay followed him through town, waited outside his doctor's office.
Ugh.
He doesn't want to sit here and he especially doesn't to sit drowning in bad memories. He floats out of the apartment. By now Tim probably knows to wait for touch confirmation before trying to converse, so - if he does want to say something, he'll probably just... figure out Jay went somewhere. It's not like Jay doesn't have his own apartment. Tim probably wants the privacy.
Halfway down the hall to his apartment he stills. He doesn't want to go in there. Nothing but boxes and lights he can't turn on as the sun sets. Lonely, aching silence.
He wants to visit someone else. He doesn't know Bee well enough, and he's not gonna go out on his own to see Greta. Is there even anyone else in this damn building he knows?
Wait - Daine. Daine. She lives here now, now that the Base is - holy shit, does she even know he's back?
And she has dogs, and dogs can see him, and she can talk to them.
What a dumb idiot.
He thinks he can remember which apartment is hers. He floats down a few floors - it's getting a little easier to make himself sink, he notes - and drifts into her apartment. Hopefully she's there, and in a state/mood to receive company. Hoping is just about all he can do right now.