#rcdrxbin

    kon clears his throat, hands shoved in the pockets of his jacket, and bumps his shoulder against tim’s with slightly more force than strictly necessary -- friendly, nonetheless.  there’s this odd urge, always, to grill tim for what he does and does not remember of before.  but that’s not productive or helpful, and it’s no ones fault that they’re in this position.  kon swallows the urge and his questions, sighs instead.  “ i’m starving.  take me out to eat, moneybags, ” he demands.  “ if you have time, of course. ”