Timmy doesn’t get it. It took him the first two months of his freshman year to figure out why that breathtakingly handsome blond giant was having such frequent mood swings that were worse than Florence’s on her second day that gave Timmy vertigo. The first time the guy ran into him (literally ran into him) was the first week of Timmy’s at Harvard and he was running late for Linguistics 101, and so, it seemed, was the giant. That accidental smack on his forehead hurt for a whole hour; he had whacked his shoulder against Timmy’s head as Timmy usually kept his head down while walking. Shoulder to forehead – that’s how tall he is, or that’s how short Timmy is. The giant immediately started apologizing, asking if he was hurt. And when Timmy removed his palm from his forehead to give the guy a stink eye, the giant’s big beautiful mouth spread with a charming smile to expose his perfect white teeth. Fuck, that smile… Timmy wanted a picture of it. His stink eye turned into a deer-in-the-headlight expression. How else was he supposed to react? He wasn’t planning on finding fucking Prince Charming on his way to Linguistics. But before he could gather himself, the giant apologized a couple more times, made sure Timmy was okay, and was gone. The whole of Linguistics was spent with Timmy questioning himself if it was a phantom or a daydream. You don’t just run into human forms of Grecian statues Bollywood-style in university corridors (minus the fact that the encounter was pretty awkward, at least for Timmy, with the giant hitting his forehead and making him feel like a Lilliput, and the remaining headache was a bitch.) But the guy made sure, he made sure that Timmy was okay before he left; his eyes kind and twinkling, his smile soft and inviting, and his voice like a tall glass of warm milk with honey. So no, Timmy doesn’t get it when the same guy tells him off in the library for accidentally letting out one giggle. “Excuse me. You wanna take the gossip outside?” he said, stern, his voice low and vibrating like hot iron. “Fucking freshmen…” he muttered as he went back to his place in the next aisle. My forehead is fine, thank you for asking - thought Timmy after he recovered from the shock of being told off. “What an arsehole,” Saoirse commented. Yes, what a fucking asshole! So he expected a quick forgiveness when he was in the wrong (fucking splitting Timmy’s head in half) but there was no consideration for accidentally letting out a lousy laugh? And being a freshman was a fault somehow?