When In Rome ► Timothée Chalamet

16 | Chalamet's

Y/N

_

Everything felt like a planned adventure.

After our bike ride through the city, it was like Timothee kept pulling different ideas out of his pocket. It was a beautiful routine we formed, from waiting to see his smile through the classroom window, to exploring the hidden gems of Rome.

In the past few weeks we traveled through the Pantheon, drove past St. Peter's Basilica, skipped down the Spanish Steps, and admired everything we saw.

Percy still refused to talk to me, but every time I looked over, he was either watching me, or watching Timothee. His unpleasant presence made it hard to focus in class, not that I was paying attention anyways. Every free chance I had, I'd be looking at the clock or looking out the window.

As if it wasn't inevitable, Elliot managed to catch the eye of another music major. Meghan, I think her name is, and due to the incessant rambling Elliot would spin at the dorm, I figured out she played the cello. It was cute to see him head over heels in his own Italian love story.

"You don't have anything important to do after this," Timothee yelled out, his voice faltering over the wind, "right?"

I was sitting on the back of his Vespa, my arms wrapped tightly around his waist. After the first time he took the scooter for a spin, it was clear it was the only way to travel places.

"Not really," I yelled back, "just dinner with Elliot!"

"Is it mandatory?"

"Depends on what he's making!"

"Mind if we make a quick stop, then?"

"Full speed ahead, Timmy!"

He laughed, zooming past a blockade of cars. I didn't bother to ask where he was taking me, even though he started to travel down a road I wasn't familiar with. We started to enter a new neighborhood, the buildings decorated with a splash of different colors.

"Where are we?" I said finally, passing underneath a string of multicolored flags.

"Trastevere," he answered, "best place in Rome."

"Then why haven't we been before?"

He opened his mouth to answer, but was interrupted by a bump in the cobblestones. The scooter fumbled rigidly on the street, before the boy was able to get his balance back. We regained our journey through the streets, but I could notice the difference in the speed we were taking. We moved in and out of different streets and alleys, until we came to a stop along the sidewalk.

I slid off the vespa, looking around at the new territory. The evening sun made the clay walls tinted with an orange vibrancy, making me feel enraptured in a warm feeling.

"It's so beautiful here," I smiled, "what's here?"

The boy took his keys out of his bike, and tossed them up in the air, catching them shortly after. He nodded his head, gesturing towards the giant oak door behind me.

"Home," he said, approaching the building.

"You live here?"

He didn't answer, but instead slid his key into the lock, twisting it and pushing open the door. That was a good enough response for me, and I followed him inside the apartment.

Apartment was an understatement. I expected him to own one of the floors, but to my surprise, he owned the entire building. It seemed more like a triple floor-ed home, than a condo.

"Make yourself at home," he said, tossing his keys onto a coffee table.

I could tell how much more art really meant to Timothee, because every wall was decorated with paintings of all different sizes. A staircase leading to the second floor was illuminated with the light streaming through the window, rainbow specks falling upon the artwork framed on the wall.

"Did you paint all of these?" I asked, admiring one of an english countryside. Each strand of grass seemed so detailed, as if I could see the water droplets on every individual one.

"Most of them," the boy said from another room, "others were gifts from my parents."

"Do your parents live here too?"

"Sometimes," he sighed, walking back into view, "they spend most of their time in New York, though."

He handed me a cold glass of water, the ice cubes clinking against the crystal sides. I wouldn't openly admit it, but it was pretty clear Timothee was wealthy. I caught a glimpse of a large frame across the room, but it was covered with a giant, dirty cloth.

"What's under there?" I asked.

Timothee flinched slightly, but I pretended not to notice. He took a sip out of his cup, clearing his throat.

"It's my piece for the RHAs," he said, "it's not finished yet."

"RHAs?"

"Raphaelites Honor Awards," he explained, "they have a show every year, and the winner's painting gets to be showcased at the Palazzo Corsini."

"The art museum?"

"Yeah, you should come to the show."

"When is it?"

"Next month," He sighed, "the day after school ends."

I gulped, my stomach dropping a little. I had gotten so caught up in the adventure, I forgot that it would have to come to an end at one point. I just didn't know it would be so soon.

"I'll be there," I said softly, "I wouldn't miss it for the world."

His eyes lit up, and he pointed to the kitchen behind him.

"If Elliot doesn't mind," he said cheekily, "you're welcome to stay for dinner."