That's his cue to hike his brows up, an obvious challenge to that defense. Unless, of course, that was some well-crafted double entendre. In which case, Tim can valiantly confirm it's gone straight over his damn head. He shifts a little, surveying his surroundings, and rests his gaze again on Jeff's current dilemma. He hums. "Convenient," he says about the empty schedule. "You wouldn't have gotten rid of me anyway. Show up uninvited, refuse to leave--" he pops the lid off his drink. "That's basically how I got adopted."

Which is to say, it's sort of a habit.

He quietly moves his backpack to the floor to make room for Jeff, who's all legs. And he's still smiling easily when he shakes his head. "I'm not big on the taste." Because too much sugar has ruined him, Tim mourns. "Believe me, I've tried."

Or are the Teen Titans supposed to be, like, teetotalers? True, he's a little stunted in the... department of healthy social norms, but if he's lacked anything in his life it's adult supervision, not freakin' peer pressure. And. Maybe. He's lacked some casual compliments thrown his way, too. If the sudden rush of red to the bridge of his nose and apples of his cheeks is anything to go by.

He scratches idly at the crook of one elbow. Gotta remember to not get Malcolm's jacket dirty. "Yeah?"

Wait for it--

"You smell nice. Like strawberry poptarts."

Help.