The Sanders Sides

8 - Timothy

Patton Sanders, Now a college Kid with a pure heart, a walking advertisement for the color blue, rounded the corner, his brow furrowed in concern. Timothy, mid-internal monologue (".just be friends first..." it repeated, a mantra against the frantic hammering in his chest), almost choked on his spit. Patton's presence always hit him like a rogue wave – the messy brown hair that somehow stayed charmingly windblown, the horn-rimmed glasses perched on his handsome face, the entire package exuding a confidence that made Timothy want to crawl back into his dorm room and hide under his bed.

"Timothy, right?" Patton's voice was a warm rumble, a stark contrast to the hummingbird symphony in Timothy's ears. "One of my, uh, brothers mentioned you wanted to chat? You alright, man? You look a little winded."

Timothy choked out a laugh, feeling his cheeks heat like a branding iron. "Yeah, no, I'm fine. Just, uh, stairs? Winded?" How could one person be that cute, even when worried? Timothy cursed his traitorous body, which apparently couldn't even form a coherent sentence in Patton's presence. "Listen," he blurted, desperate to regain some semblance of control, "it wasn't, uh, that important. Maybe another time?"

Patton's brow furrowed further, the picture of concern. "Hey, no worries," he said, his smile genuine. But unlike the usual dazzling flash of white teeth, this one seemed tinged with a hint of amusement. "But seriously, if something's up, you know I'm here, right?" His eyes, a clear blue that could rival the summer sky Timothy was desperately trying not to melt into, held Timothy's for a beat too long before he winked and turned away, the scent of his cologne – a clean, woodsy mix that smelled suspiciously expensive – lingering in the air.

Timothy let out a shaky breath, leaning against the cool brick of the wall. Just friends. Right. That shouldn't be so hard. Not with a walking dream like Patton Sanders in the same building. But as he watched Patton disappear down the hall, the traitorous voice in his head cackled, morphing the mantra into a cruel taunt, "Yeah, good luck with that, Timothy. Just friends. Sure." The voice dripped with sarcasm, and Timothy couldn't help but feel a sliver of doubt creep in. Maybe starting with friendship was a good idea. Maybe. But the way Patton's eyes had lingered on him, the way his smile had hinted at something more... Timothy couldn't help but wonder if there might be a chance for something more down the line. Just a tiny, insignificant chance. Enough to make him ignore the voice in his head, for now.

The aroma of freshly brewed coffee wafted through the hallway, leading Patton straight to the communal kitchen. There, hunched over a steaming mug, sat Timothy. He looked up as Patton entered, his eyes widening in what seemed like a well-rehearsed jump scare.

"Hey, Timothy," Patton greeted warmly, setting his books down on the counter with a soft thud. "Everything alright?"

Timothy scrambled upright, nearly knocking over his mug. "Y-yeah, all good! Just, uh... coffee." He gestured at the mug with a shaky hand.

Patton's brow furrowed slightly. Timothy's nervousness was a stark contrast to his usual confident swagger. "You seem... tense. Did something happen?"

Timothy's gaze darted around the room as if searching for an escape route. "No, no, nothing like that," he mumbled, then took a large gulp of coffee, clearly stalling for time. "It's just... well..." He trailed off, his cheeks turning a rosy pink.

Patton felt a pang of concern. Timothy's discomfort was like a physical weight in the room. He pulled out a chair and sat down opposite him, his voice gentle. "Look, you mentioned wanting to talk. Did you have something on your mind?"

Timothy's breath hitched. "Yeah," he blurted out, his voice barely a whisper. "It's just... I, uh, I really enjoy talking to you. You're always so... nice."