It's Tim's turn to laugh, a bitter little snort, as he pushes his hair back again and tightens his hold on his blanket, ridiculously, like he's a fucking kid again.

He only got one blanket, and a room without a window after he broke the glass in the last one.

"How do you think?" he asks dully, but his stomach drops out the instant he says it, because Jay doesn't know what happened after. He can't have, because a little thing like death just might get in the way of that. Just maybe.

There's only the briefest stretch of silence before Tim settles for another shrug and another lie. It's what he's good at. Forgetting, then remembering, then lying about it. "I'm fine. Not much I can really say."

Out of socially-encoded instinct he almost asks how Jay's been doing before he remembers, oh yeah, right. Some awful part of him finds that darkly hilarious, and that's really fucking twisted.