Kiss Me ⚘ Timothée Chalamet

8 | Bagel Boy

Y/N
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MY EYES fluttered open, welcomed by the sun streaming in through my bedroom window.

I knew I looked like a hot mess, but the grumbling of my stomach overpowered the need for me to brush my hair and throw on my work clothes. I rolled out from on top of my mattress, plopping myself onto my feet.

Stumbling into the kitchen, I let out a yawn and popped open the fridge. Pulling out the strawberries I cut last night, I shut the door closed and was met with a presence hovering in front of me.

"What the hell!" I jumped, my container falling from my hands in fright.

Bending down to pick it back up, I realized it was only Timothée. He had an apple in his hand, a smirk on his face, and... no shirt.

"Did I scare you?" He grinned, taking a juicy bite out of his fruit.

"I forgot you live here now," I grunted, "don't sneak up on me like that."

I brushed past him to grab a fork from my cabinet, my hands shaking from the scare. I could feel the boy's eye following me, and I had to resist the urge to nunchuck the strawberries at his face. Spinning around, I set my food on the table and frowned at him. He was still staring.

"What?" I exclaimed, "what do you want?"

His gaze traveled back from my face, to my hair, and back to my face again. I met out a groan when I realized I still looked just as bad as I did when I first got out of bed.

"You look cute," he smirked, taking another crunch into his apple.

"Oh, shut up."

"No, I mean it," he nodded, "I especially like the messy hair look."

I squinted my eyes at him, popping open the container and shoving a strawberry into my mouth aggressively. I wanted to keep my scolding stance, but I was finding it hard to keep my eyesight on his eyes, considering his chest was completely exposed.

"Can you put a shirt on?" I huffed, shoving more strawberries into my mouth.

He laughed, "is it bothering you?"

"No," I retorted, trying to gain the upper hand, "I just think it's a little too soon to be walking around half naked."

"So it is bothering you."

"No!"

"Then do you want me to put a shirt on or not?" He shrugged, taking another bite.

"Just forget it," I mumbled, sticking more berries into my mouth until I could barely put my lips together.

"I'm just messing with you," Timothée smiled, "I'll go put a shirt on."

"Thank you," I said inaudibly, my cheeks stuffed.

"You look like a chipmunk, by the way," he teased, before disappearing into his room.

Well, you look stupid, I wanted to say, but I knew better than to let my temper get the best of me. I could hear the opening and shutting of drawers coming from down the hallway, followed by soft murmurs, as the boy tried to pick out a shirt to wear.

Miserably, I stuck my fork into the container again, but I was met with the prongs hitting the bottom; I had eaten all the strawberries. Great, I thought to myself, I just stress ate all my breakfast. Trudging off towards the sink, I dropped the Tupperware in and turned on the water.

Timothée emerged back into the kitchen, finally covered at last. He was wearing a short-sleeved red polo, that had a zipper replacing the place where the buttons should have been.

"I have to go to work," he nodded, popping his collar, "How do I look?"

I turned back to the sink, biting the inside of my lip in defiance. The vibrancy of his shirt really brought out his eyes, but I wasn't going to give in to his attempt for validation.

"You look fine," I muttered, "I wouldn't worry."

"Who said I was worried?"

"No one," I huffed, "I just said it was fine."

"You also said I shouldn't worry."

I rolled my eyes, "shouldn't you be going to work?"

"I work at a bagel shop, the place doesn't open until I get there."

"Well I have to be at my job in half an hour," I frowned, "so I'll be in my room getting ready."

"Okay, chipmunk."

"Okay, bagel boy."

I didn't even need to see the look on his face to know I totally screwed up that comeback. Bagel boy? Seriously? My cheeks hot with embarrassment, I retreated into my room, shutting the door and hurrying into the bathroom. I was greeted by my horrible appearance, my lips stained red with strawberry juice. If I didn't know any better, I would have thought I covered my face with lipstick.

Attacking my tangled knots with a brush, I wiped the stain off my lips with my other hand. Once I looked presentable, I quickly changed into the dress-shirt and skirt I usually wore to Rosco. Puckering my lips to get one last glance at my look, I stalked into the living room to find my bag.

Timothée was reclined on the couch, and his head turned when I walked in.

"Your fridge is empty," he noted, "I can go shopping if you want."

I paused for a moment, a little stunned. I had expected him to say something snarky about my appearance, but instead he offered to do something productive. I scanned his face for any sign of a joke, but he seemed completely genuine.

"Thanks," I nodded, "that would be great."

Snatching my purse up from the counter, I took out my keys and made a beeline towards the door. I had a good twenty minutes to make it to the office, so I wasn't in a rush.

As I swung open the door, I heard Timothée call out from behind me.

"Bye," he smiled, "have a good day at work."

I stopped, turning back to look at him. He was still on the couch, watching me leave the apartment.

"Bye..." I mumbled, shutting the door.

I wasn't entirely sure what had happened in the past thirty minutes that I had been awake, but it was definitely a change.

I just couldn't tell if it was a good one.