THEN AGAIN • TC ✔️

25. The Realisation

Timmy pushes open Clem's door on Christmas morning, leaning his weight on the handle and peeping in. Clem is sat up in bed, staring out at the sleet pelting against the windows. She turns around; looks at Timmy as she scrapes her baby hairs back from her forehead.

He seems simultaneously too big and too small for the door frame.

"I made a mistake," Timmy says, rubbing his eye and yawning. Leaning forwards on the door handle so it looks like he might tip over.

"Happy Christmas to you too," she replies. Smiles, pats the other half of her bed which is cold (and evidently far less inviting, seeing as Timmy perches on the end of it like he's not supposed to be there.) "What did you do?"

"Your stocking. I put it by the fireplace," he frowns.

"That's the mistake?" Clem snorts. Draws the covers up around her shoulders, and Timmy looks over with an expression that can't be anything other than longing. Her mouth quirks up a little, and she places her hand on the bedding next to her. Tentative. A question with no words.

Timmy nods. Slips under the comforter and shuffles over until his thighs are pressed up against hers and their shoulders are touching on the headboard. "That's the mistake," he repeats. A moment of silence. "Happy Christmas," as an afterthought.

Clem laughs happily. Nudges him. "Why's that a mistake?"

"'Cos you put mine at the end of my bed. I didn't even know you came in," he muses.

"What do you mean? It was Santa," she assures him, and Timmy rolls his eyes. Slumps against her shoulder.

"Yeah, yeah," he snorts.

Clem says nothing for a few moments, too preoccupied with Timmy's head in the crook of her neck and the strand of his hair which is tickling her chin. She brushes it away, and ends up with her hand in Timmy's hair (surprise, surprise), stroking through the shiny curls which aren't usually that shiny. (Then Clem remembers that Timmy washed his hair yesterday. Remembers because he'd come traipsing through the apartment, shivering, droplets running down the length of his torso into the towel wrapped around his waist. Remembers because his hair was absolutely doused in shampoo and he was turning over absolutely everything on the kitchen counter in search of his speaker. "You alright, Tim?" she'd asked (laughed, really) and he had given her a quick, easy smile. Mumbled a yes and scurried back through the apartment to the bathroom, bare feet on floorboards, bringing with him the scent of shampoo and freshly washed Timmy.)

Timmy nuzzles into her and she looks out of the window again. "When do you usually open stockings?" Clem asks, stroking a strand of his hair and tucking it behind his ear.

"First thing in the morning," Timmy replies without missing a beat. "If you do it any other way you're wrong."

Clem slaps his shoulder lightly. "I mean, you're right, but," she sighs. "Do you want to go and get yours then? And I'll get mine, and then we can-"

"Oh, in front of the fire? Can we?"

"If you want, Tim," she giggles. There's a smile playing at her lips and she wants to reach out. Wants to stroke a thumb over his cheek and kiss it after. But she doesn't do that for fear of scaring him off again.

(For fear of being rejected again.)

"You're very animated today," she remarks instead.

"It's Christmas," he shrugs. He's still smiling and Clem wants to barrel into his chest. Wants to tackle him down into the covers and clamber on top of him, wants to sit there on his lap, with her chest pressed against his own. Wants to listen to the beating of his heart and feel the softness of his little pyjama top. God, there's so much that she wants to do, only she can't.