OPPOSITES ➢Timothée Chalamet

➢ C͖͎h͓̺̻a̡̟͓p̢͎͜t͙͚̦e͙̻r̡̡̙ 23

IN THE STARS

~JOHNSON~

TODAY WAS THE DAY THAT I'D FEARED MY WHOLE LIFE. The funeral of a friend.
My eyes slowly opened and I tried to focus them on my surroundings which succeeded after some moments. I was in the bedroom of my apartment in London. You might ask yourself how so I'll explain. The day after Olivia's death, I flew back to London and now I was here. The day after Olivia's death had been especially tough but at least I hadn't been alone.

„Are you awake, Chérie?" Timothée asked, his voice sleepy as he pulled me closer to him, wrapping his arm around my waist and nuzzling his face into he crook of my neck.

„We got to get up." I whispered and tried to free myself from his grip but he held me close.
„Come on, Timothée!" I insisted and he groaned with frustration.

„Fine." he mumbled and lifted his head to look at me. He leaned in and connected our lips softly, the kiss slow and loving as he stroked my hair.
„You will feel better, my love." he assured before he slowly got up.
„I'll make the breakfast today!" he called out as he left the room, making me chuckle.

༺༒༻

„BREAKFAST IS READY!" he called from the kitchen and I got out of bed too. He was standing in front of the stove, making French toast. I looked at him, his curls were ruffled and his white t-shirt and black sweatpants were crumpled from sleeping but he still managed to look like a model.
I walked over to him and put my hand on his cheek, making him look at me.

„I love you." I whispered and watched his lips curl into a smile.

„I know, Chérie." I chuckled and pulled me into a hug, letting me breathe in his familiar scent.
„I love you too." he whispered into my ear before kissing me softly, his hands on my hips as mine were in his hair. I pulled away shortly after and sat on a bar stool and he then placed a plate with French toast in front of me.

„That looks really good, love, but I'm not really feeling hungry." I mumbled, feeling bad for his effort in cooking.

„That's okay, Chérie, but please at least try eating a little bit. You haven't eaten since Olivia died one day ago." he softly spoke and I nodded, forcing myself to take a bite from the delicious food.

„That's good." I mumbled and Timothée smiled at me before taking a bite from his own toast.
„I'll get something to drink." I added and got up from my seat, my bare feet making contact with the cold floor again. I walked over to the fridge and opened it, only to be met with butter, eggs and some milk.
„I gotta buy groceries." I sighed and opened the cupboard over the stove. I grabbed an almost completely full bottle of bourbon and a glass.
„Want some?" I asked and turned my head to look at Tim, who just shook his head.

„Just don't be drunk until the funeral starts." he sighed and gestured towards the bottle, making me roll my eyes in annoyance.
I returned to my seat and poured myself a full glass of the liquor, the thought of forgetting about Olivia's death feeling impossible and amazing at the same time.
„Y/n, that's a juice glass." he mumbled and looked me into the eyes.

„And?" I asked and took a sip of the bourbon, the bitter liquor making my throat burn as I gulped it down.

„That's a bit much, isn't it?" he sighed and he was right, it probably was twice the size of a normal glass.