Tim, for the first time in what felt like years went into his bedroom. He lied down on his pillow, looking up at the pale blue ceiling of his room. Of course, he was thinking about Sophia. He was thinking about the way her hand felt, the softness of her skin, how small it was compared to his. He was calmed by the memory of it.

He didn't know why he let it happen. He would never let it happen, ever, but he did, and it was... really nice for him. He ran a hand through his hair, and he was smiling a bit, he discovered. He rolled over in his bed, ready to just pass out completely, and for the first time in a long time, he was honestly a little happy.



That night, he dream't of his mother, and the blood.