It was either gonna be heights or trees. Those seem to be the two contenders here. Tim closes his eyes briefly, inhales, and huffs out a short breath that's meant to be more calming than it actually is.
"Yeah," he says. "Trees in general. Spent a little too much time around them to be, y'know."
There's no straightforward decoupling of the back-clad visual from the prickling, crawling sensation of being watched by something that doesn't have eyes, that cannot and should not and does not exist except in burning periphery.
"It's probably nothing." The sentiment sounds forced. It is forced. He can't press his mind into believing it. He tamps down the childish urge to simply close his eyes, succumb to the if you can't see it it's not really there mentality. Because there is nothing there and he shouldn't need to pretend. This isn't his head, it's some collective group consciousness. This isn't something brushing the edges of his nightmares. It's treehouses. It's nice. He should be fucking grateful.
no subject
"Yeah," he says. "Trees in general. Spent a little too much time around them to be, y'know."
There's no straightforward decoupling of the back-clad visual from the prickling, crawling sensation of being watched by something that doesn't have eyes, that cannot and should not and does not exist except in burning periphery.
"It's probably nothing." The sentiment sounds forced. It is forced. He can't press his mind into believing it. He tamps down the childish urge to simply close his eyes, succumb to the if you can't see it it's not really there mentality. Because there is nothing there and he shouldn't need to pretend. This isn't his head, it's some collective group consciousness. This isn't something brushing the edges of his nightmares. It's treehouses. It's nice. He should be fucking grateful.