Timothèe Chalamet Imagines

༄hangover༄

Your POV

"Come on... no, over here," I whisper. I'm holding Timmy up, one arm wrapped around his hip, trying to guide him over to our bed.

"But I want to go out with you now!" he says loudly.

"Tim, seriously. This is ridiculous. Get into bed. You have work tomorrow," I tell him with an exasperated sly. He uncoils himself from around me and falls onto the bed flat on his back.

"Ughhhhhh. Fine," he grumbles. He closes his eyes and exhales through his lips.

He went out with his coworkers tonight and got extremely drunk. Usually he handles drinking really well, but he's completely gone right now.

I turn towards our closer and rummage through it, pulling out some sweats for him to change into.

"Here," I say, turning around and getting ready to hand them to him.

But he's asleep already.

I sigh and pick up his legs, moving him so that there's space for me to lay next to him.

He'll just have to sleep in his clothes.

I curl into bed next to him, already having brushed my teeth and changed into pajamas hours ago. I've just been up waiting for him. I don't mind - he doesn't do this often and I'm the one who convinced him to go have fun.

I pull the blanket up around me, burrowing into the covers. He suddenly flips and drapes one arm over me, his head laying heavily on my shoulder.

"I'm sorry," he slurs.

Apparently he's not completely asleep.

"For what?" I ask.

"Coming home so late," he grumbles, his lips barely parting and his eyes still closed.

"It's completely fine," I tell him.

"I love you," he says, his voice barely a whisper. I can smell the alcohol on his breath, his face all contorted lying against my shoulder and his perfect eyes shut. His curls tickle my jawline, and I pet them back, comforting him to sleep.

***

I wake up with the warm sun hitting my face. I guess I forgot to close the blinds last night. I slowly open my eyes and check the small clock on my nightstand.

8:32 am.

I sit up suddenly and whirl around. I don't have work - it's Saturday. But Timmy's filming schedule is today, and he's supposed to be there at 8:45. I stare at his motionless lump, completely covered with layers of blankets, only his messy hair sticking out of the top.

I rub my eyes and lean over to shake him.

"Timothèe!" I say softly. He doesn't budge. I shake him again, this time with both hands. "Timothèe! Timothèe! Wake up!" I shake him harder.

I hear a soft, low groan from under the blankets.

I tug them away from his face and instantly his eyes squeeze tighter shut.

"Timothèe! Come on!" I tell him. He doesn't move. "You have to leave, you're already going to be super late!" I say hurriedly.

He grumbles something that sounds a lot like 'no', and I stand up, opening the blinds all the way and letting sunlight completely envelop the room.

"Stoppppp," he says, pulling the blanket back over his eyes.

This is so unlike him. He's usually on top of everything, and he's never late.

"You can't miss," I tell him.

"Yes I can. Just call them. There's no way... I'm going in like this," he says with a yawn, his face still hidden by the covers. He still hasn't moved an inch or even opened his eyes.

I roll my eyes. I give up - he's right. There's no way he can do his best acting like this.

I grab my phone and leave the bedroom, walking into the living room to make the call to his director. I know her pretty well at this point. I tell her that he's sick, and she assured me that it's fine and that they can move around the shooting dates for today's scenes.

Then I order a bacon, egg, and cheese bagel for him, and a plain one with cream cheese for myself. He needs food in his system.

I grab some painkillers from our medicine cabinet in the bathroom, fill him a glass of water, and carry it back into the bedroom. He's asleep again, and I reach up to close the windows so that the room is submerged in darkness once again.

I let him sleep while I wait for the bagels to arrive, scrolling on my phone in bed next to him. I watch him sleep for a moment, reveling in the way his eyes flutter underneath his eyelids, his perfect eyelashes completely still, his plush lips only slightly parted, and his long hands curled under his chin. His beauty is breathtaking.

The doorbell rings and I run to grab the bagels. When I get back, I gently wake him up by leaving light kisses all over his face.

He resists until I tell him I have bagels, and then he finally sits up against the headboard, graciously taking the sandwich from me.

"Thank you," he sighs.

"How's your head?" I ask.

"It feels like a thousand little knives are stabbing into my brain," he tells me, biting into the sandwich and grinning as he chews. "But this tastes fucking amazing," he says with his mouth full.

"Good. Take that," I say, gesturing to the painkillers and the glass of water that I set on his nightstand.

He nods and reaches over, swallowing the medicine.

He stops eating for a moment and just leans back, shutting his eyes again.

"I'm really sorry I came back so late. I appreciate all of this so much," he tells me, eyes still closed and head tilted towards the ceiling as he rests it back.

"Don't apologize! I'm glad you went," I tell him. "Was it fun?"

"Yeah it was pretty fun. It would've been better if you had come though," he remarks, opening his eyes again and finishing his sandwich.

"You know I don't like to intrude on that kind of stuff. I cringe at the thought of being the annoying, tag-along girlfriend," I say, biting into my own bagel with cream cheese. It's delicious.

He shakes his head.

"You could never, but whatever."

***

We spend the rest of the day lounging in bed. He pukes once after breakfast, but assures me that he's fine and it's just the unreasonable amount of alcohol he consumed last night. I run my hand through his hair while he leans over our toilet.

I leave him to take a nap while I do a bit of work from the office, but eventually saunter back over to him. Hungover Timmy is too cute to resist. We watch SpongeBob and lay against each other late into the afternoon, and I order dinner for us from our favorite restaurant.

"Thank you for taking care of me," he says, resting his head on my shoulder while we sit in bed, watching The Dark Knight.

"You're welcome. You do the same for me," I tell him.

He picks his head up and kisses me on the lips before leaning down and laying his head on my lap. I pet his curls for what seems like the thousandth time today as we watch his favorite movie and he drifts off to sleep.