Tommy was still just ... not right. He wasn't stupid or unobservant, but he'd spent months (apparently) in a one-color room doing nothing but having sex, sleeping, eating, and talking to one person. Everything felt wrong to him already. By the time he worked the details out, David's voice was already behind him, and Tommy spun around so fast they couldn't see him move, and he nearly bolted out the window.

But then he saw David. Who was ... different? Taller, more fit, in an outfit he didn't recognize. And with Nightcrawler, who Tommy knew but didn't ... know.

Everything was so fucking different, Tommy felt like he was losing his mind and he didn't know what to do. Jesus, had it been years and not months? He didn't look at the year. "Yeah," he said, sounding ... kind of broken. "You don't live here, do you?"