Malcolm's recap of events makes more sense than anything Tim can conjure up. He shrugs uselessly, a well-worn gesture of his today and one that accentuates the weight of the world on his shoulders.

...and then he's hugged. And he makes no effort to move away, to squirm out of the embrace. It's an alien sensation; Tim doesn't know Neal this well. But he does know he's all but burying his head into Neal's shirt. It's warm, it smells clean, and Tim can even wrap his arms around the man like the starving jerk that he is-- commanding attention. Or trying to.

But at the same time, not.

His breath never stutters, he doesn't clamber into the guy. His head is stubbornly held low, mop of black hair obscuring the clench of his jaw. And then that's that. That's it.

That's not so bad now, is it--?

Tim pulls off, shameless but needing an escape. Maybe not for the reason one would think. But.

"I-- can I borrow the restroom real quick? A toothbrush? It's been a long day, I really need to freshen up."