Ambivalence// Timothée Chalamet

Neuf

     "Dammit," I cursed as I drowsily pulled myself out of bed. I got onto my knees and felt for my phone, which had fallen under the bed. My stupid alarm was still ringing and driving me crazy. 

     I finally got my phone and swiped the alarm away. It was six in the morning. Our seven hour flight was to start eleven in the morning. After about seven hours, we would stop and spend the night in Madrid, Spain, before taking another three hour flight to Budapest. 

     Realizing that I was nearly about to fall asleep on the ground, I forced myself up. 

     Quickly, I threw on mom jeans that were cuffed at the ends and a slightly cropped black sweatshirt. Then, I put on black socks that had little fire-breathing dragons stitched in them. They were going to be partially visible with my shoes, blessing everyone who saw them.

      Since we were flying, I decided to leave my hair in its braids, pushing some behind my ear again. 

     Sleepily, I moved on into my bathroom and washed my face before brushing my teeth. 

     I took a good look at myself in the mirror and huffed. I definitely wasn't stunning- I had shadows under my eyes, thick but sometimes unruly eyebrows, naturally curled eyelashes that sometimes clumped together, a rather flat nose, and full lips that had turned red from chewing on them too much. My dark brown eyes popped against my medium brown skin. 

     I certainly wasn't traditionally beautiful, but I felt that everyone was beautiful in their own way, as cliché as it sounds. Sometimes, though, it was just easier to see it in everyone but yourself. 

     "Decent," I breathed. I left the bathroom, and that was that. 

     My phone read 6:20 am. My stomach growled but I had to at least wait until after 7am for breakfast. That's when Gemma opened for the day.

     I didn't feel like doing anything in particular to pass the time. But I couldn't go back to sleep. 

     I began to roam around before deciding to open the curtains and admire the sky. The sun was sleepy, too, slowly but surely rising. Orange sunlight bathed the room.

     Writing would be a good way to spend my time, I thought to myself. Blindly reaching into my bag, I pulled out my journal and a pen. Then, I put the bag on the floor and sat in the chair it used to occupy. 

     Nothing came to mind at first as I stared at the two blank journal pages. The purpose of the article was to center itself around Timothée. To give its readers a glimpse of who he really was.

     Timothée... the boy I extremely disliked until yesterday. I knew him last year, but I couldn't write about that version of him. Not that he didn't have good qualities, because of course he did. He was human. He is human. And humans can change a lot in a year. I had to write about the version of him that he was now, and I barely knew anything. 

     I thought back to yesterday. He had been kind. Attractive. Intelligent. He had been a refreshing person, and anyone could be if you truly paid attention to them. He had a way of not commanding that attention, but making someone want to give him that attention. I began writing. After many crossed out words and even some crumbled papers, I had this:

   Brilliant. Gregarious. Benign. Relatable. Call him by these names and he'll call you by his: Timothée Chalamet. He leaves some weak and others in awe. To all, he leaves them wanting to know more about him and hear more from his mind. Like dangerously curious moths to an enthralling flame. (7/12)

    It wasn't much, but it was a start. My goal by the end of this was to really convey the relatable part to the public most of all. I didn't want to make him seem like a god. How I would balance the theme of him being was "one of us", yet him being totally unique from us, I did not know. 

     According to my phone, it was now 7:05 am. I grabbed my wallet and stuffed it in the back of my pocket with my phone. My stomach began to growl, getting even angrier. 

     I left my room and locked the door behind it. In two steps I reached Timothée's door. I softly knocked and waited.

     As I waited, I impatiently rocked back and forth on my feet. 

     I knocked again, this time slightly louder. I had no idea what he was doing, but he should have been ready by now. Then again, he did take an abnormally long time to get ready some mornings...

     Once again, I knocked on his door. I hoped I wasn't disturbing anyone. Although it was Thursday, and people that were traveling, for work or for vacation, were coming out of their rooms in work clothes and casual clothes. 

     Finally, Timothée had answered his door. I was more confused than angry.

     "What do you want?" He groaned as he leaned against the door with one hand and pinched the bridge of his nose with the other. His voice was low and rough with sleep. And his hair was mussed, some strands falling limply into his face. He had just gotten up. 

     I gaped at him. "Tim- Timothée, we have a flight to catch. Did you actually forget?"

     He sighed heavily, obviously wanting to go back to sleep. I watched as he turned away and walked further into his hotel room. 

     I hated when he walked off without warning, expecting people to follow him. I did exactly what he wanted and followed him into the room after shutting the door.

     Timothée picked his phone up off of the nightstand. His blankets were thrown back, and his sheets were rumpled. "Our flight's delayed until tomorrow."

     I looked at his phone, reading the texts from whoever booked the flight for us. Now, we were supposed to leave at 12:30 pm tomorrow. 

     "So I got ready for nothing?" I complained. "You didn't even come to tell me!"

     "Well now you know," he said, putting his phone back on the nightstand. Then he just stood and stared at me. 

     "What?" I snapped, annoyed that I got up early for no reason. I was still tired, though. 

     "Why are you still here? Go back to sleep." He smiled lazily, and I frowned in response. "Unless you wanna sleep with me?"

     I scoffed. "Never."

     "Suit yourself," he said as he shrugged his shoulders. Then, he climbed back into his bed and pulled the blankets over him. I stayed where I was standing, probably looking confused or lost.
"Close the door on your way out."

     I crossed my arms as I watched him become one with his bed.

     He pointed towards the door and began to close his eyes. "That way."

     I glared at him, willing some invisible force to come out of it and slap him. Nothing happened. "Go to hell, Chalamet."

     "You first, Cole." 

     I left his room and shut his door before entering my room. When I got to my bed, I looked at it and sighed before falling onto it face-first. Suddenly I felt like everything I wrote was an exaggeration. I considered replacing it with this:

     What makes Timothée Chalamet most unique from other people is how annoying he is. He's so annoying, in fact, that he has to pay people by the hour to be around him.

     Yes, that was it. Smiling at the thought, I slowly but surely fell asleep.