He can hear voices from inside just before the door is opened. Not by Matt, but by a woman. She's gorgeous, dark hair and big dark eyes, the kind of legs Tim would love to have wrapped around his waist. And though her smile is thin, it still manages to be pretty. And she walks out of Matt's apartment with a quick, sly comment, one that pricks at Tim's skin and, somehow, makes him feel threatened.
She doesn't look like someone he should be threatened by. Not physically, anyway. Then again, they're not talking physically right now.
Part of him considers turning and leaving. He has questions, but he's unsure of if he wants the answers. They seem obvious, anyway. He wonders if Matt will lie, or if he'll be honest. He wonders if he'll be able to tell the difference.
He steps inside, sliding the door shut behind him. The box of pizza is warm in his hand, but it doesn't smell appealing anymore. If anything, his stomach is turning. He knew they couldn't keep this up. That it wouldn't be perfect and happy forever. But he also didn't think Matt would be the one to fuck it up first. He thought that honor would fall on him.
"Brought you lunch," he says flatly, and drops the box flat on the bed. He's still a few feet away, surveying Matt's condition, unwilling to be within touching distance right now. "Foggy said you were sick."
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He can hear voices from inside just before the door is opened. Not by Matt, but by a woman. She's gorgeous, dark hair and big dark eyes, the kind of legs Tim would love to have wrapped around his waist. And though her smile is thin, it still manages to be pretty. And she walks out of Matt's apartment with a quick, sly comment, one that pricks at Tim's skin and, somehow, makes him feel threatened.
She doesn't look like someone he should be threatened by. Not physically, anyway. Then again, they're not talking physically right now.
Part of him considers turning and leaving. He has questions, but he's unsure of if he wants the answers. They seem obvious, anyway. He wonders if Matt will lie, or if he'll be honest. He wonders if he'll be able to tell the difference.
He steps inside, sliding the door shut behind him. The box of pizza is warm in his hand, but it doesn't smell appealing anymore. If anything, his stomach is turning. He knew they couldn't keep this up. That it wouldn't be perfect and happy forever. But he also didn't think Matt would be the one to fuck it up first. He thought that honor would fall on him.
"Brought you lunch," he says flatly, and drops the box flat on the bed. He's still a few feet away, surveying Matt's condition, unwilling to be within touching distance right now. "Foggy said you were sick."