ployboy: <user name=wittystairs site=livejournal.com> (Except a feeling in the air)
ᴛɪᴍᴏᴛʜʏ ᴅʀᴀᴋᴇ ǝuʎɐʍ ([personal profile] ployboy) wrote in [community profile] apocalypsehowcomm 2023-01-13 10:26 pm (UTC)

His brain broke, Tim is pretty sure.

He holds on to the spoon, as if he can will it full of soup again so he can get on with automatic motions to a normal evening. But it started with Malcolm's bumbling, the rolling of frustration under his skin and in his veins. There's no way Malcolm can't hear himself, can't hear how unfair he is being.

And then Neal swoops in to save the day and there's real, sincere awe at the idea that the man managed to buy a house because who the hell has that on their radar here? Neal does, apparently, because he also has this naive or predatory notion of permanence and it starts with a house and a jeweler and

Tim stops from downright scowling, but both of his hands are up to grip and run through his hair in a non-too-subtle tell of his irritation. It's not even directed at Neal or Malcolm, even, or their relationship or the world they build up around themselves or

it's just that while some worlds get built up, others just keep crashing and cracking and

"You guys need some time alone to discuss that, I guess," he manages to say with enough confident finality to mean he is out without having the hysteria rising in his throat. Again.

Because Tim Drake is wonderfully calm and composed like that.

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