TAKE IT EASY • TC ✔️

18: Being Good (to Some Extent)

Tomorrow, maybe, turned into tomorrow, definitely. Timothée knocked on Lucia's door in the early evening, around four thirty. There was a long silence before she answered, a great big pause that stretched out in the corridor around him, his knocks echoing in the quiet.

"Hey," she breathed, and she was panting slightly, he realised. "What can I- what do you need?" she asked, quickly changing tack, and it was only then that Timothée realised she was wearing one sock. She was pushing her hand into the other in an attempt to stretch it out, and he watched as she wrestled it onto her foot, one shoulder leaning against the door frame.

Timothée smiled bemusedly. Lu looked up when he didn't answer, and saw the smile drop from his face as if he'd been caught doing something he wasn't supposed to.

"I just came to, to return this," he said, proffering Pride and Prejudice with an outstretched hand. He didn't know what to do with himself, then, so he tucked his fingers into the back pockets of his jeans.

Lu turned the book over in her hands, her brow furrowed, before realisation swept across her face, and she grinned.

"Oh, brilliant! Did you like it?"

"Yeah, it was, um, it was better than I remembered," he said quickly, glossing over the fact that he couldn't remember a single word of it from his schooldays.

"That's good," Lu said plainly, practically bouncing on the balls of her (now socked) feet. If she was going to catch the train to Albany, she needed to have started packing at least thirty minutes ago, not three minutes ago.

Timothée nodded. "I really liked the-"

"Timmy, I am so sorry, but like- I'm kind of in the middle of something, and-" she cut off abruptly, watching the expectant little smile vanish from his face.

Shit.

Shit.

Timothée wanted to punch himself as hard as his slender fists would allow. "No, that's fine, I'm sorry, I'll just- I'm 'onna- I'll go," he said resolutely, sending her a tight-lipped smile.

"No, wait," she insisted, and Timothée's head lifted in such a way that you could've mistaken him for a puppy. His eyes were wide, and round, and that was not in the least important because Lucia had something to do and somewhere to be and-

"You can come in. If you want," she offered, and Timothée had to try his hardest not to look too pleased. (It didn't work very well at all - his face lit up like he was acting out the phrase his face lit up - but Timmy didn't know this and it was probably best that it stayed that way).

"Oh, well, I wouldn't want to intrude, or anything-"

"No, no, it's fine. Just, excuse the mess," she waved it off, opening the door. Timothée couldn't tell if she was joking or not; the place looked spotless to him. Sure, there was like, one empty glass on the draining board and a pile of old-looking documents on the table, but that was it.

"Are you serious? This place is like, so much tidier than mine," he remarked, glancing around him for any more evidence of mess.

"You haven't seen my bedroom yet," Lucia replied drily, and that was when Timothée understood.

Because when she led the way in to her room, Timmy couldn't help but gawk. Everything was everywhere - it looked like a crime scene involving lots of clothes and a ridiculous number of plastic bags.

"What the fuck are you..." he trailed off, backing himself against a wall and delicately shoving a t-shirt out of the way with the tip of his foot.