Physical discomfort was obvious, but mental anguish made it seem worse than it was. He looked run down and drained, physically broken and a little pride hurt. He almost seemed older even with the weight of possible death on his young shoulders. The little closet was dark and cramped until Clary opened it to let in a sliver of light. His eyes adjusted, but Tim was silent. The regret in his posture was obvious. A million and two questions raced through his mind. He was tense as he felt movement behind him. Two people. Buffy again? One of the bodies was female, he could tell just by the barely there shift in shadows. The other male. Bart? Clark?
The voice made his eyes widen and then lower again. Not sure what to say to either presence. Not sure what he could say to make any of this better. So he was quiet waiting for Oliver to yell or lecture. It would be the least he could deserve in this type of situation. His breathing was labored and his guard was up. He didn't know what to expect next. There were things keeping him inside. Powerful magic. Oliver was alive. But that didn't mean anything as far as forgiveness went. He didn't expect to get it. Though selfishly he wanted it. He heard Clary's voice and recognized her but he couldn't meet her eyes, not like this.
He didn't struggle or fight when the voices came nearer, he stayed down and still.