TLV: IC Inbox

[statementfuckingends]

You've reached Timothy Stoker, leave a message at the tone and I'll get back to you.

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[epistemological]

If Jon was upset, there'd be a blustery lie and some fussing about how 'it's not fine' but right now, instead, there is a single glance up, meeting Tim's eyes, and a nod. A simple nod.

"Yes, of course."

He closes his eyes and makes his shoulder sink again, lets himself lean up against Tim. It's fine. All forgotten. Tim's fine now. Obviously.

[statementfuckingends]

He can't help but squint at Jon, for letting that go so easily. Because that- just agreeing with him? Is definitely not how Jon rolls. Jon doesn't let things go. This is not dropped, and there's a part of Tim that is pre-emptively despairing for whatever poor bastard did this to him, for having upset Jon about it.

He just lets a long sigh out, and slides back down into a more comfortable position, so he can wrap his arm around Jon's shoulder again and relax into it.

"I'm just glad I've got you back," he says quietly.

[epistemological]

There's an affirmative noise from him as well as he sinks into the arm around him, lets himself melt a little with his eyes closed.

I don't like who I am without you all.

"As am I."

[statementfuckingends]

So it's settled for now, if nothing else.

Tim doesn't bother with more words. He just leans another soft kiss again Jon's hair, and starts gently carding through it with his fingers again. Something to coax his friend into much-needed sleep.

[epistemological]

Jon won't resist long at all. Instead, it'll be just a couple of minutes before his breathing goes regular and it's clear he's sleeping.

Peacefully.