ALPHA || TIMOTHÉE CHALAMET

054

Golden light leaks through the curtains on the window. Quietly, without disturbing the sleeping boy beside me, my sock-covered feet reach the floor. I cross my arms over the sole t-shirt covering me and walk to the window, pulling back the curtain watch the warm changing hues in the sky.

I go home today. I board a plane in the afternoon. The thought back to real life crosses my mind, but it's no longer applicable, as the sleeping boy behind me is well part of real life. Back to being away from part of my life, I suppose.

We did talk about the future here and there. I made sure he knew I was aware and understanding of the schedule and traveling demanded of his career, all of it. He'd made sure I knew he would make this work, and over and over again, I told him that I understood, that it was okay, that we would be okay. And I am so thankful. Thankful that my worries are not the central doubts, that I am no longer fearful of situations that haven't even happened. Thankful that seemingly despite all odds, I have learned to trust again, to have good things, to love for what feels like the first time.

His curls are strewn across his pillow. Golden light reflects from his fair complexion, and I recall the first morning I woke up before him and admired how he slept. I chuckle silently.

Maybe I was in love in the past, at least once. It's very likely. The difference now is that I know what it feels like to be loved in return. It's no longer a one-way street. It never should have been. Looking at him, I don't question it. It's a refreshing wash of golden daylight. He is daylight. I love him like he is the sun.

I tiptoe to the living room, dig my journal from my tote bag and sit at the kitchen table. I open to a blank page and write down all of these musings. They come out in forms of verse and unorganized prose. I flip through pages from weeks ago, from a year ago. I cross out, rewrite, add, and edit until I'm deep in meticulous scribbling.

"Talking shit?" I hear from the doorway, making me jump. He nods to my notebook, his warm grin across his face.

I jump up after closing it, laughing as my arms slide around his neck, and I sink into his secure hold.

***

Saoirse hugs me and gives my cheek an amicable peck. "I already miss you. I absolutely want to come visit."

"Just say the word. You're welcome anytime," I respond, clutching her hands. "I loved spending time with you this week."

"Good, so just a see-you-later," she chirps, her nose scrunching.

My packed suitcase sits by the door, waiting to be wheeled downstairs to the car driving me to the airport today. I'm in one of Timmy's sweatshirts I'm taking home with me. He put a second one in my suitcase.

Saoirse stays a little while longer before our final see-you-later, leaving me and Timmy. We spend a final few minutes in the cozy space where we lived together for a week. I'm on the living room loveseat with my legs curled up and phone in hand, and he lays curled up with his head in my lap. I text my flight details to Lara, who's picking me up tomorrow, while gently toying with his brown curls.

He could change his mind, a thought shoots, but I deflect it. I trust him a terrifying amount, and it hardly worries me anymore. What I know is I'm never going to break his heart. For all I know, later it could be mine, but it would have been worth it. Everything will have been worth it.

***

With a final look around the room that housed a week's escape, I exit the door, tote bag over my shoulder. Timmy pulls my wheeled suitcase at his insistence. My eyes are to the floor as we enter the elevator, one hand on the tote strap at my shoulder, the other in his. The energy is somber. I am terrible with goodbyes. I study his profile, the arch of his nose, the curls by his ears, his freckles and carved jaw, the thin gold chain around his neck, memorizing as many last-minute details.