Winged

Chapter 8.

If there was one thing Timothee hated more than Mondays was not knowing what is going on. And today, it was both. Through the past few hours he had spent to Bivium, learning crazy things about his now reality he had reached his limits with not knowing what was going on, and if he had to go through it one more time it would be his last straw.

It was just the way he thought of things, if someone wants to know something just tell them already, no need to give them a cliffhanger. Or thinking you are making them a surprise. It's just pointless and very, truly irritating.

So now, that he was all dressed up and ready – in Evans clothes that were fitting him just perfectly, apart from the trousers that were just reaching above his ankles - preparing himself for what it was about to happen, sitting on the couch, all tensed up, waiting for Evan to finally show up from upstairs.

Evan. He was a bit strange today. Still smiley and sunny but it seemed biased, it seemed like something was going on inside his mind that was setting him unable to be the usually energetic existence he was. Timothee, despite usually keeping his distance from people, was kind of worried for the dark-haired boy. He didn't know what it was, the feeling he had, but something inside of him was telling him that something is off with Evan, though he was hiding it just perfectly. Maybe it was linked with last nights events when Evan was restlessly fighting some non-existent threat.

Timothee, for an odd reason he couldn't even define, could see that Evan was not that well. He kinda hated that he did, but he did. He didn't hate it because he would have to help him. No, no, it was not that. Despite trying to avoid any form of human interaction in general, when someone needed help he was always there. He hated because he felt something changing inside of him. He felt his walls coming down, inch by inch, making him vulnerable to all the things he was protecting himself from. But thing is, his walls were not coming down themselves. Evan was the one behind all of it. He was the one taking down the walls. With his vibrant self, his radiant smile, his enviable personality. His unique talent to make everyone weak on their knees. No, scratch that. His unique talent to make Timothee weak on his knees.

He knew Evan for what? Three days? And he could already feel him, creating a soft spot inside his – Timothee's – heart, just for himself.

"Evan? Everything's alright up there?" Timothee called, leaning over the staircase bannister, eyebrows scrunched as he tried to get some signs that Evan was fine.

"Yes, everything's fine." Evan gave the answer soon enough, storming down the stairs, fixing his leather jacket, a cigarette balanced between his lips, his hair knotted on a messy low ban, and atop of everything sunglasses. Sunglasses, hiding his eyes from everyone with their pitch-black spectacles.

Timothee raised an eyebrow at the sight of him. Well. He looked damn hot. But sunglasses? Those blasted things were hiding his most defining feature! Plus, they were blocking Timothee's view on them. And this cigarette? What was the matter now with that.

"Ready?" Timothee asked him, leaning against the banister with narrowed eyes as though he was reading the shorter boy, which he did. Evan held one hand up, as though he was signaling for him to give him a moment which Timothee, despite being really impatient, gave him. Inhaling the last drag of his lit cigarette, puffing out an irritatingly large puff of smoke, he tossed the cigarette to the closer ashtray, still feeling Timothee's eyes examining his behavior.

"Now, Im ready." The grey-eyed boy announced forcing a grin. Oh, he couldn't fool Timothee with that grin, surely, he couldn't. Timothee, for some odd reason, could tell when somebody was forcing a smile or when it was genuine. He debated inside his head, as he stared at Evan, weather he would tell him he knew he was faking it or not. He decided not to. He didn't want to pressure Evan or anything. He did not know him that well after all.