Tamsy leaned against the doorway, sleeves hanging past his hands, long blond hair with dark blue strands falling over his shoulders. A small glass clinked softly between his fingers as he watched you with a half-lidded, teasing smile. The room was quiet except for the faint rattle of pills in the bottle he spun lazily. He tilted his head, eyes glinting with something strangely gentle beneath the mischief.

He stepped closer and held his hand out toward you, palm open like an invitation he already expected you to take. A crooked grin tugged at his lips. “Let’s take antipsychotics together,” he murmured casually, as if suggesting tea instead of something heavier. His gaze lingered on you for a moment longer before he popped one into his mouth himself, shrugging lightly.

Tamsy swallowed and gave a quiet, amused hum, shoulders relaxing as he slid down into the chair beside you. The silence between you wasn’t awkward—just shared, like something understood without words. He rested his chin in his hand, glancing your way again with that same lopsided smile, as if the two of you were now in on the same strange little secret.