The anger doesn't entirely dissipate when Tim sees Matt, though it does lessen significantly. It's hard to be mad at someone you care about when they're all roughed up. Not that he hasn't seen Matt roughed up before, but this is different. It's different because for several hours that night everything went to hell, there was a very real chance that Matt Murdock was dead.

But he's not. He's here, alive and breathing in front of him. A little worse for wear, but not dead.

Tim doesn't think he can go to any more funerals.

But even as he reminds himself that Matt shouldn't mean as much to him as he does, and that he doesn't mean that much to Matt, he's glad that the other asked him to come over. Relieved that he's safe and, as unjustified as it is, still a little bit angry.

"Jesus," he murmurs, and steps inside, though just enough to pause in front of Matt. He lifts a hand, careful and slow, and touches the other's face, the spot right above the bruise on his temple. His fingers are feather-light and gentle, and he's glad Matt can't see the pained expression on his face.

"I wish you would've called me sooner," he says quietly, and drops his hand.