It's like trying to catch water between his fingers, and every paling instant where he thinks he could claw back some measure of calm is lost in something trembling and breathless. He's trying not to let his shoulders shake when he looks out again, trying not to let his hands shake. Fuck. He's fine. He's normal, he's fine. Fuck.

"I wasn't doing anything," he says, but now his voice is wavering, great. He probably sounds like he's having some sort of nervous breakdown. Unless he is? Maybe this is what nervous breakdowns feel like. There's no prickling and numbness to signal an onset of panic. Fuck, fuck. Has he ever had a nervous breakdown?

He has to explain. He has to do something. He can't just sit here talking in circles to this guy who clearly, clearly does not know how to handle this and Tim can't blame him, because he doesn't know how to handle this either.

"I really," he whispers, locking eyes with Yuri, dark and terrified, "really. Don't like trees."

That's no fucking explanation, and he knows it. He catches a stuttering breath and tries again.

"There's something wrong," he mutters, one hand fluttering up in a helpless gesticulation that explains exactly nothing. "There's something - can't you - ?" He drifts off. His heart's pounding. His mouth's dry. There's nothing out there. There's something out there. Fuck.