At seven in the morning, on a rare day off from work, Tim stands at his front door face-to-face with a direct reminder of a past he's trying to escape.

Despite the frustration simmering beneath his skin, Tim can't find it in himself to be angry with you. Not when you look at him with the same eyes of a kicked puppy, eyes that you have had ever since you were a child.

It reminds him of baby-you, when you were always crying but still so adorable. Except back then you weren't trying to invite him to your abusive father's funeral.

"No," he says flatly.