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Summary
Tim was always holding his breath. Waiting. Filled with anticipation.
He'd spent most of his childhood that way, alone in Drake Manor hoping his parents would come home soon, crouched behind air conditioning units on top of buildings for the bats to fly by, sitting at a school desk watching the clock more sharply than paying attention to a teacher, clipping film to clothesline to dry and hoping he'd gotten a good shot. So Tim had made a game of it. He'd try to hold his breath for as long as he could while completing a task, just to see how far he could get.
It was easy for simple things, like doing dishes or math problems. It was much, much harder for others. But some things? Some things it made exquisite.