ALPHA || TIMOTHÉE CHALAMET

030

"That other morning. You said something, that I don't know an accurate version you. What did you mean by that?"

After a long while of lying in my bed, tangled in each other and whispering secrets and stories under the covers, we'd resorted to getting up to make tea. When I sat up and kicked my legs over the bed, Timmy's arms curled around my waist, his lips landing in the crook of my neck, pulling me back down onto him in a fit of giggles.

Eventually, we found our way to the dim lighting of my kitchen, provided only by the light under the microwave and the warm living room lamp. He's in his boxer shorts, I'm in my t-shirt. I put a kettle on the stove to heat, and now stand in front of the counter, pouring hot water over tea bags in two ceramic mugs.

At his question, I have to set the kettle down for a moment, recalling that morning and everything I'd said out of frustration and anxiety.

"I meant that because — this. All we do is this. This weird sleepover thing." It's cringey to say.

"You think it's weird?" He smirks.

"You know what I mean. It's just all been very — inconvenient. Unplanned. You know?" I turn around and hand him a mug.

"Yeah, I know."

I pick up my mug and turn around, leaning against the counter as I stare into my tea in thought.

"So what do you think of that?" he ponders again. "You think it's had an effect on how we know each other?"

"I don't know. I think I have different thoughts on it now. But what I meant is that this is all we do. We only know each other because we hooked up, and now it's progressed to — to what it is now, but only because when we're together, we seem to live in some dream world."

"I see what you mean."

"And that's why — that's why we're so comfortable with each other. It's always after dark, in the safe space of an apartment, tucked away from the rest of reality."

He moves to standing next to me, leaning against the counter, and I lay my forehead on his shoulder.

"I get what you mean now. But I think I see it a little differently. I don't think we know inaccurate versions of each other at all."

"How's that?" I'm looking at him, that damn curl hanging in his face again, suddenly wishing we were back in bed so I could devour him.

"We're this comfortable because of just that. It's always just you and me. So if anything, I don't think we know each other inaccurately. I think I've gotten to know the real you, and in the best way. You know, when there's no one else around, the times we've gotten to talk, how I've told you things I don't really feel comfortable telling anyone else. And when you're dancing in my kitchen to Kid Cudi and talking about your family. And when you've told me about things from your past that you don't find too easy to talk about. But you still talk about it with me."

And he's right.

I have little idea of what the near future holds, or what it may be like to hold his hand in public. But I'm starting to be sure that whatever the future looks like now, I'd like to have him in it.

"Going off of that," he starts again, "people always think they know me, you know? Because of how I present myself, when I do press and interviews and film. And things can get complicated at times, with me living in some sort of spotlight. What I mean to say is that it always feels a lot less complicated with you."

With my forehead still on his shoulder, my arm curls around his bicep.

"There are a lot of complications attached to me when it comes to these things. You know it's all completely up to you, whether you want that or not." There's nervousness in his voice.

My hand slips up to his shoulder, my fingers just below my nose as I look up at him. "You know I would never let that get in the way, right?"

He nods, his lips briefly moving to meet where my hand rests. He hangs his head for a moment, eyes to the ground, a disconcerting expression on his face.

"What's up? Hey," I say softly. I set my mug on the counter behind me and step in front of him, arms wrapping around his waist.

His eyes lift from the ground to meet mine, where the question lingers. His hands move to cradling my head.

"Good?" I question again.

He nods, a smile reappearing as his eyes search my face.

"Marley, you're obliterating me."

I gently tuck his fallen hair behind his ears and pull his face down to mine, our lips colliding again, feeling his smile as he kisses me. I kiss around his cheek and jawline, arms curling tightly around his neck. My thighs wrap around his waist as he picks me up, carrying me back to my room, and we collapse onto my bed in fits of laughter and giggles.

He's kissing up and down my neck and face, legs kicking and hearts racing. Soon, we're again lying side by side and facing one another, wrapped up in each other, my head tucked under his.

The night is still, eternal and pearlescent. I'm falling asleep in his arms, breathing in his cologne, and praying that this isn't the last time I fall asleep next to him.