This is dumb. He's too easy to rile up and fluster, and Tim's watching his carefully schemed evening go right down the drain. (Except-- not.) He's redredred, and Jeff is giddy and Tim huffs. "Maybe if you feed me," he counters, and it's so weak that he has to give in and laugh, too. Kinda.

But then he's sputtering, a real laugh startled out of him and Jesus Christ this is so

dumb. The homesickness can take a backseat to the question of keeping the red bull in the can, in his hands, as opposed to all over-- Jeff's front? What with how they're awkwardly positioned. One exhausting, shoulder-shaking moment of raw amusement later, Tim figures he can blame the over-warmth of the air on the exertion.

He kicks (lightly!) at Jeff. And thinks he should probably take off his shoes.

And he, again, has no frea king clue

"You look nice, too."

He gestures lamely at-- himself. The jacket? Meaning Jeff's floral... thing. That second layer they've both got going on over plain shirts. Huh. Black and white.

Poetic.

His cheeks burn a little less. Tim takes a swig of his drink to save his voice. And he clears his throat. "Bright colors fit you."

Like he knows or cares about fashion. Uhh. Tim. Starts to toe his shoes off. Stops. "Uh. Do you mind? If I... stick around?"