the prettiest star,, timothée chalamet

irl

Soleil thought that Timothée was so fucking annoying.

To be fair, he always was. It was that something about him that made him human. That and the fact that his love language was nuzzling his head into your arm like a horse.

But still, no matter how much she brushed him off or hit him in the head, he wouldn't stop asking about her book.

"I know you've been upset lately and the only explanation is that something happened with your book," he said, leaning across his kitchen island as she sat on a stool on the opposite side. She was typing on her computer and His face was close enough that she could see the details of his eyes but not close enough for her to be able to hear his heart pounding fifty miles an hour. "I wanna know what's wrong. I wanna be able to help."

Soleil reached up and messed with his hair. "Nothing, dude. I'm fine. It was just—" Timothée's ears perked up and he leaned forward even more. "—postponed. No big deal."

His pupils grew and his smile turned around. "What?"

"It's nothing, Timmy. It was my decision." Please don't ask why, she begged in her head.

"Why? This was your dream," he told her. And it was. Publishing had been her dream since diapers. High school her would be kicking the shit out of herself if she were here.

"Can we drop it?" She typed a few things on her keyboard before sighing and looking up. "It's stupid and I'm stupid but I'm not mad."

"Or sad?"

She muffled a laugh. "Or sad."

The corners of his mouth curved into a soft smile. "Promise?"

"I promise."

The second Soleil stood up and went to her fridge, Timothée's smile dropped. He spun around as he moved to the other side of the counter, following the girl. He leaned on the counter near her laptop when he took a quick glance, not thinking much of it.

He only read the first few words on the page. It wasn't much. Not until five seconds later when he took a double take that his heart dropped.

Dear Arabella,
        I don't know why I'm doing this.

As Timothée read the words Soleil turned around and saw him standing in front of her laptop. Her eyes widened and as quick as she could she used the plastic Tupperware of sushi in her hand and slapped it shut, making him lurch back.

Soleil stood there, hands planted on the top of her shut laptop and her gaze still on the counter, she wished that just for a moment she could stop time. Give her a few seconds to prepare.

Somehow Timothée, like always, was able to read her mind as he stood by her side in silence, his head staring at where the open laptop just was. It was like this for a few seconds until he asked,

"You don't have to explain—" He began turning away from her and with a panicked groan she grabbed the bottom of his shirt. 

"Timmy—"

"No, no!" he spun around to face her while nervously laughing. Soleil remembered his go-to coping mechanism was always laughter. "I-it's fine. I don't need to hear it."

"Please don't act like you're not upset. You should be—"

"But I don't want to be," he exclaimed. "I never want to ever get mad at you, Soleil. I promise." He began walking away again.

"But it's better than shutting me out," she objected as he paced the kitchen. She stood there, pressing her nails into her palm. "I don't— I can't lose you again, Timothée." He stopped pacing and stood there, his back turned to her. She saw him clench his fist before releasing and in the microwave reflection, the panic was inflicted all over his face. "Yell at me, fight with me, be angry at me for all I fucking care. Just talk to me."