Be Extraordinary

Oh yes, Wililam, you don’t know a thing, and that’s obviously much more interesting than sending him away. So the other’s invitation to cook is just as well an invitation to stay for a few hours (perhaps even the night, but Jimmy shan’t suggest that, he’ll let Will do the inviting). The little hint of smile on Will’s face prompts a smile of his own. ‘You know, I think that good service always deserves a little tip of some kind,’ he replies. And he moves to sit himself down, make himself comfortable. There is one thing that Will is right about (and if Jimmy knew what he was thinking, he’d tell him so), that the South is very different from where they are now. Where they are now is more open, and yet much more private, though he supposes that he has William and his choice in real estate to thank for that.  Timothy has found himself a spot to call his own in this house, just as Jimmy has (for now, it shall change soon enough). His tongue touches at his lower lip again, resting there, running over somewhat raw skin – from the biting and pulling of flesh – and his eyes don’t leave Will’s face, watching every move he makes. Predatory, in a way, but in a passive kind of way, a kind, soft kind of way, like a cheetah.  ‘You know how to cook? I ain’t never been so good at it myself, but Tim ain’t ever complained about it.’

WILLIAM, YES, YES WILLIAM, YES. WILL, YES.

After Shakespeare. La-di-dah. He wonders if William here can measure up to Shakespeare, if he, too, is an expert in giving the people what they want and creating a legacy. He thinks that, somehow, he is. He purses his lips, making a slight kissy noise, and he looks around the house. He steps past William and he goes a little further into the room, slowly swaying past the dogs, and his legs end up covered in hair, but he doesn’t mind it all that much. His eyes, really, are on the reflection of William Graham in the windows in front of him. ‘You got a real nice place here.’ Jimmy is one of those that makes himself at home, and while many may think that he already has, it’s only going to carry on. His fingers hook into the handle of a drawer, and he pulls it open, then he jiggles it, looks inside, and closes it again. ‘You’re real nice, you know, not many would let a guy in like me,’ he muses. It’s got to be the dog, really, that’s it. Ain’t nobody scary with a little dog called Timothy. He turns back to the other man, and his head tilts as he looks over him, all weird this William is. Weird as he looks reserved, yet Jimmy’s in his house. Plus, Jimmy kind of likes weird, he likes it when they’re a little different. He likes the scar on his face and he likes the way his eyes move across the house, over him, examining him, almost. Jimmy, on the other hand, isn’t examining William, he’s undressing him in his mind. Wondering if he has any other scars that Jim ought to know about, any other little things for his eyes to caress and explore. ‘I’m kinda hungry,’ he says. For more than one thing, apparently. ‘How ‘bout you?’

Jimmy makes a face and gives a little shrug of his shoulders. ‘Italy sounds nice, ‘cept for the, y’know,’ he motions to the scar again, and then that’s the end of it. He doesn’t want to pry if William doesn’t want to talk about it. In fact, what he’d rather do is spend a little time here before heading back to, well, nowhere. He’s been away for a long time now, only god knows if the house he’d had before is still there, if someone else hasn’t moved into it. Responsibilities lie away from this house and those are things that Jimmy doesn’t yet want to deal with. So instead his lips pout and he looks around the house a little. Large rooms, he thinks, he wonders what the others hide. Timothy is used to being allowed to do as he pleases, and so that’s what he does, takes a little water and then moves on to helping himself to the couch.  Will comes across as somewhat shy and yet he’s opened his house to Jimmy without any real question. He doesn’t know what jimmy has done, who he is, the possibilities really are endless, and considering his run-in in Italy, one might have thought he’d be more careful.  Jim leans his backside against the counter, one ankle crossed over the other and he looks at Will with a little smile on his face, his tongue touches at his lower lip. He isn’t entirely sure what to say to him. Is he lonely? Is that why he’s been invited in with so little care? Is he just craving company? He realises that he didn’t return the introduction and now, with hands clean, he holds it out. ‘Jimmy, by the way, nice to meet you Will –– that short for William, I imagine?’