All of those misdirections just to skip their way merrily off to the flophouse. Of course Jeff weaseled his way into his old room. Or most likely, they're going to crash into a random, currently unoccupied room and Tim's going to be swallowing down that frog in his throat and praying they're not walked in on. Y'know, when they're in the moment.

Feeling his face uncomfortably hot, Tim barks a laugh and picks up the pace. With Jeff's long legs (god, he loves those long legs) it's a good hustle from short little him to keep pace. It sucks, Jeff's whole... lonely journey, that story of his that nobody will know entirely. But with his mind getting ahead of himself and his adrenaline so painfully, predictably racing, Tim can't hide the spark in his eyes. He's selfish like that.

"My friends and I had a whole place to ourselves in San Francisco," he says and realizes this is maybe the second time he's mentioned having friends at all. His voice is fond. "That city's like a second home to me. I can't say I've been sightseeing elsewhere, though."