He breathes out, long, formless, slow, while Jay processes. Some spiteful part of him wanted, still wants to simply let him figure it out, maybe demonstrate - look, Jay, watch me toss this mask out the window and pass out and wake up with a nosebleed and that fucking thing staring at me across the room eight hours later - but he viciously tamps it down.

It's almost worth it when the other man apologizes.

He actually apologizes. Not in the muttered, resentful sense, not as an afterthought. He looks genuinely taken aback. He looks genuinely sorry.

And then he's gone again.

"Shit," Tim says flatly, shutting his eyes as that familiar, creeping chill touches his shoulder.

"God." He shakes his head, resets everything left in disorder except his mind, can't fucking fix that, and shoulders his way through the bedroom door to start unpacking his goddamn groceries.

Not like they can do much else when Jay's like this.