Timothèe Chalamet Imagines

❁hair dye❁

Your POV

"I think this is right. Yeah... this has to be right," I say, reassuring us.

We are both smearing the dye down my hair. Tonight I had impulsively picked up a box of hair dye while at the store, and Timmy was helping me dye my hair.

"Why does it smell so bad?" he asks, scrunching his nose. He continues to slide the pink dye all over my hair.

"I dunno, it's probably full of toxic chemicals or something."

"Oops..." he says. He just accidentally got a ton of it on my neck.

"It's fine," I say, laughing. Why did I do this? This is so stupid. We continue running our fingers through my hair, trying our best to get the dye everywhere.

We finally finish covering my whole head, and now I just have to wait before I can rinse it out.

I turn and face him with a mischievous smile.

"We could dye a piece of your hair too!" I say.

"Okay, let's do it," he says with a grin.

"Really? I didn't think you would agree."

"Only a piece of it," he says.

"Okay. Just one curl," I assure him.

He steps in front of me and crouches down so I can reach his head.

"I'll do one in the back," I say.

I pull one of his curls at the nape of his neck and gently take the brush to it, covering it with pink dye.

"It kind of tickles," he says, with a cute giggle. He's so adorable, and he doesn't even know it. I smile to myself as I finish his one curl.

"Okay... done!" I say, setting the brush aside.

"Ooo. I'm going to look fabulous," he says, turning to see the tiny strip of hair in the mirror. "How long do we have to wait for it?" he asks.

"Um... forty-five minutes," I say, checking the directions. He groans. He is impatient, but I love that about him. He's so eager to do things and see quick results.

Forty-five minutes and a few glasses of wine later, our heads are both tipped over the edge of the bathtub as we try to wash out the dye.

"Why didn't you wash mine, and wash yours?" I ask, laughing as we both try to fit our heads under the showerhead.

"I don't know, we're kind of stupid," he says.

He holds the showerhead, still with his head bent over the tub, and puts it over my hair. The cold water accidentally runs down my neck, and I scream at the sensation.

"Oops, sorry about that," he says with a giggle. When the water runs clear, I reach over and shut it off.

"Here," I say, holding my head over the tub and reaching for the towels on the counter. We both dry our hair and finally stand upright. "Your shirt is all wet," I tell him.

"I guess I'll just have to take it off then," he says in a mock-sexy voice.

"Oh no," I say sarcastically. He rubs his hair with the towel one last time before discarding it on the floor, and then slowly peeling his wet shirt off. He's so perfect. I stare at his sculpture-like features, losing myself for a moment, until I see his smirk.

"Oh don't get so cocky," I say, tearing my eyes away from him to roll them. He reaches forward and grabs my hands, pressing them against the hot skin of his chest. It makes my breath hitch. I slide my hands up his skin and around his neck, pulling his head down to kiss me. Our lips slowly collide, and I feel him sigh into me.

"I love you," I tell him, pulling away only a fraction of an inch.

"I love you too, my pink haired girl."