IN THE HOURS BETWEEN • TC

19. Investigating

After dinner, Una looks at the text Max has sent her.

max.hart: thanksss, and yeah, sure. It was cool that you spoke to me in the first place lol, sorry I ran away

max.hart: did you like the drawing?

Una can't quite believe it. Can't quite believe that he's actually agreed, and so readily, as well.

She responds quickly.

yeah!! I framed it and everything lol, it's so good.

Is that too eager?

No, she's asserting herself. It's fine. Is it? Yes.

(No?)

It's fine.

It's fine, it's fine, it's fine.

--

After tripping up the stairs and grazing her knee in the process, Una is daubing at her skin with an antiseptic wipe, hunched over on the lid of the toilet.

The door, which has been ajar up until now, creaks open slowly.

"Oh! Sorry, I didn't know that you were in here," Timmy apologises, backing out. She catches a glimpse of his face, a flash of flattened hair.

"No, no, no, it's fine," Una says.

"The light was off, I presump...um, presumpted? That there was nobody," Timmy explains, sidling into the room and taking his toothbrush from the little pot on the side which he has finally started using. His toothbrush looks at home amongst the others. A little scruffier, perhaps.

"Presumed," Una says, taking a plaster from the box. Timmy hums.

"Oh dear. What have you done?" he asks, nodding towards her knee as he squeezes toothpaste onto his brush.

"I fell," she says quietly, and Timmy snorts.

"Silly."

She glances up at him. Looks back down and removes the backing from the plaster.

Timmy's toothpaste is foaming up around his mouth - he's brushing very vigorously and he put a hell of a lot of toothpaste on. She smooths the plaster over the graze, trying not to crease it.

When she looks up, Timmy is leaning back against the counter in his basketball shorts and a soft-looking t-shirt. One of his legs is crossed over the other and he's watching her carefully.

"Is it hurting?" he asks, and she smiles a little. Shakes her head.

"No."

"Well that's good," Timothée says through a mouthful of toothpaste. Una puts the plasters away and reaches past him to the pot of toothbrushes. Timmy backs away and hunches against the wall, his arm crossed over his stomach.

"Party in here," Frank says brightly, slipping into the room and taking his toothbrush from the holder. Una puts toothpaste on it for him, and the three of them stand there, brushing their teeth. Una sits down on the toilet seat again and glances at Timmy's calves, lean and soft looking. She looks away at her own legs, at the dark hairs creeping back slowly.

Timothée mumbles something, placing a hand on Frank's hip and moving around him to spit out his toothpaste.

He doesn't leave, though. Just perches on the countertop with a tiny smile, looking at the Murphys as they brush their teeth.

"You are very similar," Timothée says quietly, his gaze flitting between the two of them. Una looks at Frank. The gently sloping eyes, full lips, flat-ish nose. She can't really see herself in him at all.