"Yeah," says Tim, his eyes still darting and wary, breaking off to scan the walls of the tiny suspended house they're both in. His neck won't stop prickling. That's nothing new. He's freaking this guy out, and for good fucking reason. He's acting fucking weird with next to no explanation other than he doesn't like trees. Sure, he doesn't. But it's less the trees and more their potential, what could be between them.

"Couple weeks ago," he breathes. Gotta keep this moving. Conversation. That's normal. He can do that. "Keep to myself. Don't go out much."

His wrist twitches, involuntary, one hand delving into his pocket in search for the lighter he isn't carrying and, failing that, wrapping fingers around the little orange bottle buried there. Just. Just to be safe.