THEN AGAIN • TC ✔️

5. Word Vomit

Timmy shuts the door behind him, babbling about the football game he's just been to. They won, (Leo was as good as ever) and another of his students who usually flunks math turned in an assignment super early. Just ran up and gave it to him when he was making his way down from the bleachers. It's almost suspicious, but Timmy wants to presume the best. He's almost excited to mark it, and how pathetic is that? He's twenty-five, he shouldn't be finding his grading interesting. He should be going out, he should be finding a date, like Clem's does. Like Clem's done. He should be doing something that doesn't involve quadratics and red pens.

And like, he knows he's rambling, but he can't help it. That's just who he is. (Sometimes a kid will ask him about something, and he'll stand there talking for five minutes before realising he's gone completely off-topic. He'll have to double back, have to screw up his face and say "Wait, what was your question?")

So he knows he's rambling on about their victory, talking fast like he always does when he's excited about something, but he can't bring himself to care. It's not like Clem cares, anyway. (Or, at least, it seems that way. He's never quite sure if she actually cares that much about what he has to say, and he gets it, he really does. Problem students and polynomial expansion aren't everyone's thing, but at least she seems animated. That's all he can really ask for.)

Timmy keeps on talking as he walks into the living area, unwinding his scarf from around his neck, and-

"Oh."

A realisation. "Oh shit, sorry," Timmy says, smiling, laughing nervously.

Because there's Clem, curled into the side of her date, and like.

(He's hot. The guy is hot, and Timmy wouldn't have made so much fun of her about this little date had he known that the guy was going to be so fucking gorgeous. Wouldn't have teased her about the fact that she was cooking for him instead of going out out, because Timmy would cook for him. Hell, Timmy would voluntarily do the guy's laundry, would make five course meals and scrub away at his kitchen until it gleamed).

It's not disconcerting, as such.

But it's just that Timmy has never actually seen Clem so dressy, and her hair's out instead of up, and she's wearing lipstick that's kind of worn off in the middle but still looks nice. He freezes. Opens his mouth hesitantly. "I'll just-"

"Nick, this is Timothée," Clem cuts in. Brushes her skirt down around her thighs, and Timmy balls up his scarf in his hands, winding it round and round, unravelling it. Winding it around again. "Timmy, Nick."

"Hey, man," Timmy says quietly, his face a little flushed, and he hopes they think that's just because of the cold. Nick nods to him.

"Timmy's my roommate," Clem explains. Stiffens. "I mean, like, he lives here."

Timmy fills in the gap with a smile, but she keeps talking.

"Like, he pays to live here. He's-"

"Flatmate," he says, and Clem breathes out.

"Yeah, yeah, that's what I meant," she laughs, pushing her hair back. It springs back into place, and she looks between Timmy and Nick, smiling like she's unsure of herself.

Timmy nods. Fiddles with the fringe on his scarf absently. "I'm sorry, I'll, uh...leave you to it," he says, feeling horribly large. Feeling like he's taking up too much space, and he knows he's skinny but that doesn't stop him from being tall. Doesn't stop him from feeling like a giant.

He eyes the crumble on his way out, glancing over towards the kitchen, where it's sitting on top of the oven. He could go over and just fix himself a-