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What A Time

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He shouldn’t have come.

He shouldn’t have returned to Italy.

Every street, every corner, everything reminded Timmy of him.

He remembered everything.

 The longer he walked, the more crystal clear everything was becoming. He could hear their loud laughs bouncing off the walls, their voices singing drunkenly in the streets late at night, their moans of pleasure in their crappy loft, his loud cries when he had broken Timmy's heart when summer ended and they had to return to their everyday lives as if nothing had happened.

“It was just a summer fling, get the fuck over it.” He had told Timmy.

The memories were killing him.

He wanted to throw up. He was feeling a bile gathering up in his throat, and his eyes were stinging from the tears which were threatening to fall.

It’s been two years, he shouldn’t be feeling this way.

His heart was feeling heavy in his chest. He wished he could rip it out.

His brain was overworking, bringing back memories. He wished he could stop it.

All of it.

He couldn’t handle the pain of a broken heart.

Then what was he doing here? Why had he come back to a place where he was hurting? The answer was simple.

Because even though it hurt, he needed familiarity. That and he missed him. He missed what they had. The good parts at least.

He swore he could smell his scent in the Italian night air, he could feel his touch, his lips touching his skin, he could hear his voice.

Timothée wanted to scream. Scream till his lungs gave out, and his lips were parted open in a silent scream.

Maybe his mind would shut the hell up if he did it.

He chuckled bitterly. He knew it wouldn’t lead anywhere.

I need a drink, he decided.

A strong one.

His long skinny legs carried him towards a bar. It was packed as expected. Loud, obnoxious laughter could be heard from a few tables and lively chatter. The scent of smoke from their cigarettes and of alcohol was all over the place. Timmy felt dizzy.

This wasn’t his scene. At all.

He preferred quiet places, a good book maybe and some music playing quietly in the background. He didn’t care what genre as long as it filled the suffocating silence. This was too much.

He walked to the bar anyway, taking a seat on a stool, just in time one of the barmen turned to him.

A pair of piercing ocean blue eyes were staring at him. The man was handsome, extraordinarily handsome and Timmy couldn’t help but drink in his appearance. Messy light brown hair, smooth tanned skin, a chiselled jaw, rosy lips, broad shoulders and towering height. Timmy believed the guy was taller than him, possibly taller than everyone in the bar.

 An arrogant smirk painted the stranger's lips upon seeing Timothée’s eyes widening in awe of the handsome stranger. Something stirred inside him by seeing the smirk on Armie’s lips.

“What can I get you?” The handsome barman asked leaning closer to Timmy. His voice was baritone, and he talked slowly as if he had all the time in the world. His tone made Timmy swallow hard.

“Bourbon.” Timmy stuttered and took a deep breath trying to get himself together. Why was he reacting so strongly towards him, he asked himself. The man eyed him for a few seconds before speaking again.

“Are you sure you can handle it?” Timmy scoffed at that.

“I’m not a damn child,” Armie smirked once more and raised his large hands up in surrender before grabbing the bottle of Bourbon and poured some in a glass, quickly passing it to Timothée.

He was a sassy one. Armie liked it.

He thanked him quietly and took a long sip from his drink. The strong alcohol burned his throat and made him feel a little dizzier than he was already was. He wasn’t a big fan of strong drinks either. Usually, the scent alone made him sick, but now he needed to forget everything, feel numb.

He watched as Armie poured himself a drink, long fingers wrapping around the glass as he lifted it up to his lips taking a sip and licking his lips afterwards.

“How did you know I’m not from around here?” He questioned Armie in wonder, the alcohol in his system made him feel more confident. He was shy usually, didn’t start conversations with handsome strangers fearing he would fuck up and make a fool of himself.

Armie shrugged taking another sip, looking utterly unphased by the alcohol.

“It’s obvious that you are Europian, but you don’t look Italian. You seem quiet and reserved, I don’t know. You drink whiskey too instead of wine or beer which they seem to prefer.” Armie answered placing his glass down and leaned his elbows on the counter pressing his chin on the back of his hand.

Timmy nodded slowly. The man was observant, he could give him that.

“I’m French actually. And you’re American, right?” Timmy asked Armie taking another sip of his drink before placing it down on the counter.

“I am.” Armie nodded refilling Timmy’s empty glass.

“And what the hell are you doing here?” Timmy asked looking up at the tall man. Armie shrugged his shoulders.

“I needed some extra cash, a friend of mine comes for the summer, Italy sounded fun so here I am.” He said nodding towards the raven-haired barman serving a groud of already drunk Italian’s laughing like there was no tomorrow. He was as tall as Armie, maybe few inches shorter than Armie, he couldn’t quite tell.

 Armie rolled his eyes pouring himself another drink, he couldn’t stand the obnoxious sound of their laughter or their huge smiles full of joy. How could they all be happy all the damn time? Didn’t they have problems?

“Fair enough,” Timmy said interrupting Armie’s thoughts. Armie nodded dumbly still kind of lost in his thoughts. He shook his head and looked at the French petit boy.

“What brings you here?” He asked watching the boy as he drunk from his glass, thin red lips wrapped around the rim of the glass, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed.

Armie cleared his throat and looked away busing himself by cleaning a wine glass. He couldn’t be thinking like that. 

“I’m trying to re-live some of the best memories I have. But I think I’m failing.” Timmy let out a bitter chuckle looking at his half-empty glass.  Armie looked at him with sympathetic eyes. The boy was probably going through a heartbreak. He wanted to know what had happened to the boy, but he also didn’t want to interfere. So he did what he knew best.

“More whiskey?” He smiled kindly lifting the bottle up. Timmy smiled at him in gratitude and nodded his head.

“Yes please.” He mumbled staring at the ocean eyed man.

Armie smiled at him and filled Timmy’s glass once more.

“That’s the last glass though, I can tell that you are lightweight and I don’t want to have to carry you home.” Armie joked lightheartedly even though there was nothing else that he wanted more than spend as much time as possible with the boy he would most probably never see again. He had an overwhelming need to care for Timmy which was entirely out of character. Sure, he did care for his family and the few people he called friends; he wasn’t an emotionless asshole even though many people liked to call him that, but never for strangers, at least not that much. Not even if they were pretty.

Timmy was an entirely different story though.

He seemed sweet. His delicate features made him look angelic and vulnerable in a way. The frail frame, thin arms, bony fingers and delicious looking collar bones, pretty green eyes which gleamed under the lights of the bar added to his soft image, which brought out to Armie the need to protect him and keep him safe from whatever could cause him harm.

Timmy felt Armie’s ocean eyes observing him while he drunk and looked up at him, wondering why he was looking at him the way he did. His vision suddenly started going blurry, and he placed his glass down rubbing his face with his hand.

Armie was right, he was lightweight indeed.

“God.” He mumbled under his breath and closed his eyes for a few seconds. He reopened them, blinking slowly, finding Armie still looking at him.

“You okay?” Armie asked, his tone softer than before.

“I-Yeah.” He chuckled nodding, which turned out to be a bad idea.  “I think I should stop drinking.” He continued. He felt as if he was floating, his head was in the clouds keeping, company to the stars.

Armie nodded slowly agreeing with the boy and brought Timmy’s glass closer to him. He raised it up to his lips and drunk the remaining bourbon not wanting it to go to waste. He placed the glass inside of his and turned his attention back to Timmy who was looking at him with hooded eyes.

“Do you live far?” He asked the green-eyed boy before stealing a quick glance around the slowly emptying bar.

“Near the Palazzo Colonna,” Timmy answered. Armie had the urge to roll his eyes because of course, Timmy pronounced it perfectly even though he was drunk, but he suppressed it.

“That’s far. Did you walk here?” He questioned. His mind already racing, thinking about what he could do to make sure the boy would go to his hotel safely. Timmy nodded slowly.

Armie sighed and untied his black apron from around his hips and hanged it on the hanger behind him.

He grabbed his jacket from under the counter and walked towards the raven-haired barman.

“I’m leaving,” Armie said making Henry turn to look at him in surprise. Armie never left earlier, he always stayed up even after the bar closed to clean up and sometimes have a couple of drinks in the quiet after a busy night.

“Whoa, where are you going so early?” Henry asked looking at Armie, with confusion written evidently all over his face.

“I’m taking someone home,” Armie replied making his friend smirk and chuckle, looking around the place. There was a last group of young Italians which seemed to be pretty preoccupied with each other, engrossed in a conversation and talking animatedly, it didn’t look like any of them would be leaving soon, let alone leave with Armie.

“Who are you taking home?” Henry asked feeling even more confused than before.

“The guy over there-” Armie nodded towards the place Timmy was previously seated and turned to look at him, only to find the smaller guy gone. “Fuck.” He cursed under his breath and looked back at Henry.

“Look I really have to go, I’ll talk to you tomorrow.” He said and quickly made his way out of the counter, and in a few big strides, he was out of the bar, leaving Henry to stare at his disappearing image confused as ever.