TAKE IT EASY • TC ✔️

16: Biting the Lime

Timmy had tried really hard not to fall back asleep. Honestly.

But the room was so warm, and Lu's voice was so soft, and by God, she was a good narrator. He found himself far more engaged with the words spilling from her mouth than the words he'd attempted to read the night before; she had a way of twining them together. Her inflection was perfect, the voices she used for different characters enchantingly accurate. Timmy could practically hear them conversing before him, could hear the rustle of their skirts and the shrill timbre of their voices.

Every so often, Lu would stumble over a word, or get the intonation wrong, but instead of pausing or apologising, she just corrected it and moved straight on with the story. Timmy liked that - it meant that everything kept flowing. Just one, seamless narrative. (Although, it was funny watching her face contort when she mispronounced something).

Not that he was watching her face for long, of course, because by the end of the first chapter his eyes had fluttered shut, and he was reclined against the pillows with a content little smile upon his face.

"Should I carry on?" she asked, when she'd read the last line of the chapter, and all Timmy could do was nod sleepily, rubbing his nose with the heel of his hand and tucking it back into the covers to listen.

Lu was now recumbent at the foot of his bed, and she could really have done with a pillow or something. This position was killing her, but she refrained from asking, lest he thought her ungrateful. (Which, yes, was stupid, but stupidity was Lu's speciality). The grey blanket was rucked up to her waist and draped just beneath her shoulders as she lay face-down on the mattress, propped up on her elbows.

It had seemed to Timothée, before, that she'd been true when she said she hadn't picked up the North Carolinan dialect - her accent had sounded fairly conventional - but now he was proven wrong. On certain words, the smooth rumble slipped, and he was met with that lilting southern twang, which made her seem so much more-

He wasn't really sure what it did, but he found herself trusting her. Like he could tell her his deepest, darkest secrets (which, admittedly, were few in number) and she would listen carefully and pet his hair and tell him everything was going to be okay.

And it really wasn't Timmy's fault that he fell asleep, because her voice was so soothing and the words so rich and textured, that he was out like a light halfway through chapter three.

Lucia didn't register this immediately. She kept on reading to the silent room, spit gathering in her cheeks as the words rolled over each other. She paused to swallow from time to time, her throat a little hoarse from overuse.

She only realised he was snoozing when she stopped at the end of a sentence to catch her breath, and soft, snuffly snores could be heard from deep within Timmy's nest of blankets.

Lucia lifted her head from the book. Nothing could be seen of Timothée from this angle, except for the top of his head peeking out from the comforter, and she giggled.

"Timmy?"

No answer, and Lu stifled another laugh. She found the empty sugar packet, which had floated to the floor at some point, and marked the page before setting the novel down and shifting herself off the bed. She shuffled over to Timothée's side, peering into the blankets.

He looked beautiful, shrouded in that innocence, that easiness that only sleep can bring, pale face gleaming serenely. Combined with the colour of his sheets, it was almost too much to comprehend - like looking at a white wall on a sunny day. His mouth was slightly parted, bristly eyelashes fanned over the tops of his cheeks. The folds of his neck were smooth and delicate and Lu felt almost like she wasn't allowed to look. It couldn't be allowed for someone to appear quite so angelic whilst asleep, quite so peaceful. This wasn't envy she felt, but something else entirely. Reverence. Awe.