[He's not sure he fully grasps that, but he's not sure how to go about asking. Tim spits a wet clot of blood and petals to the ground and squints against the sun. It's so fucking hot here. The ground radiates heat, between the rivers of lava and god knows what else. Here he thought it couldn't get worse than regular old desert.]
You're allowed to feel that way. I mean, I get that it's...
[He trails off. Not acceptable? Not great? Every possible way he can think of to end that sentence feels like it falls miserably short of actually encapsulating it.]
no subject
You're allowed to feel that way. I mean, I get that it's...
[He trails off. Not acceptable? Not great? Every possible way he can think of to end that sentence feels like it falls miserably short of actually encapsulating it.]
'S not the end of the world. Not here.