Hello Daddy... (CHARMIE)

Ch5

Timmy wandered into the kitchen after Armie, trying really hard not to gawk at everything he passed because he was pretty sure he was walking by, like, actual original old ass paintings by dead guys on the walls, not just crappy reproductions anyone could buy off the Internet or whatever. There were actual fucking copper (copper? Bronze? Whatever, he wasn't an art major) busts of more famous dead people on a little table in the middle of one of the hallways that seemed to just sort of be there for the purpose of displaying stuff, and the entire entryway had been bigger than his apartment.

So he was maybe feeling a little out of his element. But he wasn't going to freak out about it (much. Probably.)

He made another turn, already sure he was going to get lost on the way back to the door when he had to leave, and then just stopped and stared, because there, in the middle of yet another fucking room, was a small living room peppered with loveseats and armchairs and in the middle, the focal point of the whole room, was a fucking Bösendorfer. He'd only ever seen them in music stores, roped off behind velvet ropes like the fucking George Clooney of grand pianos (which they basically were, sexy and sleek and just unattainable enough for the regular Joes but close enough for them to drool over at every opportunity) but he'd never seen one in person and before he realized he was doing it, he'd crossed into the room, and just stood, staring at it.

He'd kind of forgotten he was supposed to be following Armie and hadn't said anything about leaving to drool over his piano, the desire he had to just touch it, just even touch the lid he didn't need to even play it, and he felt himself starting to shake again, just a little, hands clenching at his sides because jesus christ this thing cost more than his entire college tuition and what the fuck was he even doing here except essentially getting paid to let someone fuck him and wow he did not think this through this was maybe a terrible idea and why, why did his anxiety always get the best of him after he felt super confident about a thing what was this rollercoaster and why did it exist??

He rubbed his hands over his face, trying to get his breathing under control, and when the hand landed gently on his shoulder he actually yelped and jumped away guiltily, shoving his hands in his pockets and saw Armie watching him, concerned.

"I didn't touch it," he blurted out without thinking, and then winced and rubbed the heel of his hand between his eyes because wow, Timmy, what a fucking stupid thing to say and now he really looked like a stupid kid, but when he peeked out from behind his hand, Armie was just standing in front of him, shrugging.

"I don't mind if you do," he said, studying Timmy carefully. "It's meant to be played, even though there's no one in residence currently who can play it." Timmy chewed his lower lip, sliding his eyes over to the beauty once again, and he caught Armie's smile in his periphery. "If you want to touch it, I'm not going to object, but if it could wait until after we eat, that would be nice."

Timmy nodded, chewing on his lower lip still, and finally dropped his hand. "I'm sorry. About, like....me being the least suave idiot to ever exist."

Armie just shrugged and walked out again, Timmy scurrying to keep up. "Han Solo's not exactly suave either, you know, and he got laid." Timmy stared at his back, mouth open, before the laugh bubbled out of him.

"Oh my god you're such a fucking geek," he said, the tone delighted, and the look Armie shot him was trying so hard to be unamused and failing because he was smiling a little under the stern face he was attempting, and Timmy just grinned and poked Armie in the side. "Huge geek. Batman references, Star Wars. You probably speak Klingon, too, huh?"

"I'm not even going to dignify that with an answer," Armie said as they finally rounded into the kitchen, but Timmy heard the laugh in his tone and grinned. So far, this was pretty okay. Plus, there was a Bösendorfer he'd get to touch later.