His bleak eyes looked up at his roommate, as if they weren't quite seeing. They were still, unfortunately, a cloudy orange. You okay, Tiamaris? He... was not used to those words, not that sentence, but... it was not the first time he had heard it. Just the first time since his uncle had died. Confusion added itself to the bleakness in his eyes, then. He had looked to this boy in fear that he would be like his father, when he saw everything. It had never occurred to him that he... that anyone... could be more like his uncle. Of a sample size of two, Tiamaris had more experience with his father, than with anyone else. The thought that someone else could - would - care was so outside of his expectations that he had no clue how to handle it, how to react, what to say. So he just sat there, covered in scales, rent of clothing, broken of bed, staring bleakly and uncomprehendingly up at his roommate.