When In Rome ► Timothée Chalamet

3 | Not Your Neighbor

Y/N

_

That name kept ringing in my ears like the sound of a church bell. Always ringing for a reason, but that reason you don't ever seem to know. I clutched the drawing in my hand, admiring it's detail and design. Timothée's drawing was so clear, everytime I glanced at his face etched onto the paper, it made me feel like I was still on the train with him.

Thinking about it now, it must have seemed like an odd request to ask. A drawing of him? It made perfect sense to me at the moment, hoping to be able to retain as much memory as I could in the time I was in Rome.

I could get a glimpse of the past whenever I saw that sketch.

"Are you checking in?"

My eyes snapped back into focus, as I realized I was standing in the lobby of the Rome Center's dorm building. The lobby was decorated in a rustic, Italian theme, as everything seemed to be a mixture of wood and marble.

"Ah- yes, I'm checking in," I stuttered, placing my hands on the counter, "Y/N, L/N."

The woman in front of me had her hair pinned up into a neat bun, and was wearing a slick black uniform. Her name clip was pinned straightly on her left, and she carried herself as regally as one could. She wore little to no makeup, but her cheeks were rosy, and she had a sincere smile on her face.

"Wonderful," she said, pressing the keys on her keyboard quickly, "may I have your Student ID Number?"

"Oh, yes, of course."

Surprisingly, she didn't speak italian, which was something I thought I'd have to do as soon as I arrived here. I mean, to be fair, not everyone here was a language student, so I suppose that's why. As she fumbled through the key box, I took in the faint hum of people talking around me, and the pleasant smell wafting out from the lavender bouquet in front of me.

"And just for clarification," the woman said, dropping the key into my hand, "you marked down on your transfer sheet that you would like a roommate?"

Roommate?

"Um, no- actually," I hesitated, "I didn't."

"Oh! My apologies, it says on your form that you agreed to share dormitories with another student here at NYU."

"That must be a mistake, I requested a single room... is there anyway we can change it?"

"Unfortunately, your roommate checked in yesterday morning, so it would be impossible to move them from your original room. However, I can put your name down on the waitlist, and will notify you when a room is available."

"That would be perfect, thank you."

"I apologize again for the inconvenience," she nodded again, "please enjoy your stay here."

I smiled, grabbed my suitcase, and hurried off towards the elevators. It wasn't the best start to my stay here in Rome, but I knew how to adapt to new situations. I just hoped a room would be available as soon as possible, because I've given in to the stereotype of the 'rude roommate'. I've seen too many shows, but I do hope whoever is in my room is nice.

I got off on the sixth floor, and dragged my bags all the way down to the last room in the hallway. It wasn't too bad though, the rooms on the end always have the best view. Sliding my key into the lock, I twisted it open and pushed on the door.

I don't know why I expected everything to be messy, but it was the exact opposite. Everything seemed so incredibly neat, considering my roommate was supposed to have checked in last morning. There were two beds across from each other, except I noticed a yellow suitcase kicked underneath the one on the left.

"Hello?" I called out, peeking my head around the corner, "anyone here?"

"Oh- yeah, sorry!" I heard a muffled voice call out from the kitchen, "I'm in here!"

The kitchen wasn't a real kitchen, it was just a fridge and a stove stacked up on the wall, but I had to go into another room to find the voice; which sounded a little strange. Whoever was speaking had a British accent, but that wasn't the strange part about it.

"George?" the voice called, "you're George right?"

The sound was followed by the sizzle of oil slapping a pan. But I wasn't distracted by that, I was more stunned by how low the voice sounded. I mean, it was considerably higher than the average human, but it was deeper. As if it was supposed to belong to a man.

"Um.. no not George," I muttered, shocked, "Y/N."

I heard a spoon clatter onto the counter, and an unfamiliar face peeked out from behind the door. Whoever this man was, he was definitely not the person I was expecting. And I, ditto to him, was not who he was expecting.

"I- who?" He fumbled, his body fully appearing from out of the kitchen, "you are not George."

"I know I'm not George, I'm Y/N."

"Are you in the right room? I was told I'd be rooming with someone named George."

"And I was told I would be rooming alone...there seems to have been some serious miscommunication."

"Yes... there seems to have been."

We stared blankly at each other, not sure what to say. His forehead was crinkled, as he tried to process what was going on, and he ran a hand through his brown hair.

"I'm Elliot Jackson," he said, standing up to me, and sticking out his hand, "nice to meet you."

"Hi, Elliot. I suppose we'll be rooming with each other all year?"

"Yep..." he paused, before pointing to the stove in the other room, "spaghetti?"