TAKE IT EASY • TC ✔️

32: Ratatouille

this chapter contains non-graphic boner descriptions ✨

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The morning arrived in the sunlight streaming through the curtains, the gravelly cooing of the pigeons on the balcony, and the dead weight of Timmy, snoring softly on Lucia's lap.

Lu woke up when she could no longer kid herself that she was asleep, and glanced down not to find Julius, as she had expected, but Timothée. Timothée, with his mouth squashed against her thigh and his body curled up against her own. Timothée, with the blanket fallen down to his waist and his hands wrapped around her knee protectively, instinctively.

She smiled. Reached out to push the hair out of his face and waited for the daylight to filter into his eyes, waited for him to do anything other than wrap himself up in her lap like a cat.

Lucia ached. She ached because she had fallen asleep with her torso sandwiched between Timmy and the arm of the couch, ached because her shoulder had been jammed against her face as she slumbered. She tried to stretch herself out as gently as possible without waking him up. Managed to move about two inches before deciding that it was not worth the risk, and sighed. Rolled her neck and brushed her fingers against Timmy's hair, which was sprawled across her lip in much the same way as he was.

The night before--

(After Timothée had fallen asleep several times throughout the five episodes they'd watched and had woken up during the ad break. After he'd contemplated asking Lucia if she wanted to go to bed instead of sleeping on the couch, after he'd wondered whether she'd find that weird and after he'd decided that the couch was comfy enough, she was comfy enough).

--he'd been thinking. Which, Timmy told himself, was hardly ever a good thing where he was concerned, but he wanted to do something for her, say something to her, in the morning.

He hadn't yet figured out if she was expecting a thank you, a repayment, but in his short while on the earth, he'd concluded that the way to basically anyone's heart was food. So, he'd planned on making her breakfast or something. He'd planned, as he drifted off, for Lucia to wake up in the morning to the smell of...something, something nice, and she'd open her eyes groggily and sit up and ask he what he was making and he'd say...well, something, and she'd see that although what she'd done for him the day before was lovely and everything, he didn't really need her because he was fine on his own, and look, he was making breakfast.

And then she would stand up and rub her eyes and there would be fresh coffee sitting in the pot (and he'd actually used the last of it on Saturday but he wouldn't bore himself with the details) and her nose would perk up even more so than usual and Timothée would oh so nonchalantly go help yourself to coffee, and she would be so impressed with him that she would realise last night had been a one time thing. She would realise that Timmy could do things on his own and she would understand that, lovely as she was, she didn't need to come and baby him because he was okay.

But, as is often the way with these things, Timothée woke up to a soft hand in his hair and a soft thigh under his head and the soft serenity of near silence. Which was lovely, but...not the way he'd planned it.

"Hey," he heard Lu's voice swim from somewhere above him, and he sat up quickly. Her hand fell from his hair and there was a throbbing pain beating fully at his temples and maybe he'd had a few more beers yesterday than he'd thought, and ew there was dribble flaked at the corner of his mouth and had she just seen him wipe it off?

He stared at her, and Lu smiled back at him encouragingly. Glanced at the corner of his mouth which he'd just wiped.

"What day is it?" he asked. Pulled his shirt down over his stomach where it had rucked up during the night and ran a hand through his hair which Lucia had been fiddling with.