Winged

Chapter 5.

"You're Italian?!" Timothee exclaimed, his eyes wide and mouth hanging as he tried to wrap his mind around what Evan had just said. Evan on the other hand was standing before the kitchen counter, spoon in his hand, his head carelessly thrown back, as he roared with laughter.

"Why are you so surprised? Don't I look Italian enough for your taste Mr. Timmy?" Evan teased the sandy-haired boy, a sly grin on his aristocratic features, his eyes meeting Timothee's.

The two boys were now in the kitchen, Timothee sat on the marble island, facing Evan who was standing between the counter and marble island, the two of them having such a wonderful time that Timothee found himself unable to remember when was the last time he had been so happy. It was nice here, he had come to the conclusion.

"I don't know! You are the poshest British boy I've ever met! Your accent! Have you ever heard it?" Timothee threw his hands in the air in despair not exactly able to comprehend how a boy as British as Evan could be Italian.

"What does my accent have to do with that, darling?" Evan laughed at Timothee's reaction, shoving a handful of 'M&M's' on his mouth from the bowl in front of them before climbing up the marble island, sitting on top of it with crossed legs.

"I don't believe you." Timothee finally stated, holding his chin up in a way that reminded even himself of Evan.

"I just cooked pasta for you, ritardato mentale!" Evan exclaimed, his last words coming out in the most Italian way possible making Timothee gasp at the sound of them. Funny, he thought, how from a British posh boy he could go to an Italian rebel in a matter of milliseconds.

"That doesn't mean a thing! Nor does the fact that you know two words in Italian. Still got the posh boy in you." Timothee crossed his arms over his chest, throwing an 'M&M' at Evan who promptly proceeded to catch it with his mouth, totally failing.

"I never said I grew up in Italy, deficiente." Evan corrected him, now his turn to throw an 'M&M' at Timothee who succeeded with an ease that made Evan gasp. "How'd you do it?!"

"Dunno I just did it." Timothee shrugged, blushing a bit at Evan's reaction. "So, you're not Italian."

"I am not making this conversation again, Timmy." Evan shot him a dashing smile as he hopped off of where he had sat upon, pacing around to come and stand beside Timothee, leaning against the counter with grace.

"Don't call me that." Timothee remarked softly, though it came out more because it was a habit than because he actually meant it. The times he had said these words the last sixteen hours were probably more than he had ever said them before.

"I like it." Evan casually shrugged making Timothee smiled a little, two dimples forming around his lips. Evan had actually grown really fond of those dimples the past few hours. When the scrawny boy smiled, they were always there to form the cutest picture. "Wanna see your room?"

"Oh, I have one of those? Thought I'd sleep in yours, Evan 'I don't what personal space is' Lorry." Timothee teased him smirking mischievously at him, receiving an eye-roll from Evan along with a smile. That smile did something to Timothee. Something he couldn't actually explain but he surely did find himself staring at this smile longer than he would even expect.

"You do have but you can always sleep in mine if you want Timothee 'I secretly love physical touch' Ferox." Evan returned the teasing as he and Timothee started heading upstairs to finally go to sleep.

"You don't know me..." Timothee remarked fixing one pillow of the couch as they passed by it, finding it important to do so because it was true. They didn't really know each other. They had only met some hours ago under not the most friendly circumstances and now here they were being housemates and all, having the freedom of teasing each other.