Timothèe Chalamet Imagines

✾not tonight✾

Your POV

I reach out and catch myself on the corner of the wooden bar, laughing hysterically.

I usually don't drink like this, but tonight I just felt like truly letting loose. Alcohol is not a way to cope with life's issues, but it does make for a fun night after a stressful day, or week, or month.

"Okay... I think it's time for us to go," Timmy says loudly, over the music. He keeps one hand on my lower back, helping me straighten up again.

"Noooo. Let's have some fun!" I yell back. We've been here all night, and it's getting late. He hasn't had much to drink, and he's more grounded in this moment. I just wish he would let loose and go crazy with me in this very moment.

I grab my drink from the bar and turn it upside down, sipping out the last drops, before slamming it back down and grabbing his wrist to tug him into the crowd.

"Y/N... it's so late," he whines, but still with a hint of amusement at my behavior. I'm usually in his position - it's almost never this way around. I couldn't count the number of times I've helped him drunkenly stumble home after a long night of tequila shots and loud music, but tonight isn't one of those nights. It's my turn.

I tug him to the middle of the sea of bodies and wrap both arms around his neck so that I don't fall. We sway back and forth, not really to the beat of music, and I am dizzy. I rest my forehead against his chest, looking down at our feet on the floor as we sway awkwardly to the fast and upbeat music.

"Y\N," I hear in my ear. His voice is soft this close to my ear, and his curls tickle my face. I giggle at the feeling. "Let's go home," he says sweetly. I throw my head back and look at him.

"Fine," I give in. "But one more cherry vodka sour!" I say, starting toward the bar again.

"No way. Come on," he says. He grins and wraps one long arm around my waist, hugging me tightly against him. The feeling of his long fingers reaching around to my stomach gives me butterflies.

"Hey, you don't control me. I'm my own woman!" I say with a laugh. I try to make it confident and bossy, but his hand is distracting me, and I'm tired.

"Of course you are, and of course you can do whatever you want. You don't need me to protect you. But you're literally going to pass out if you have one more drop of alcohol," he tells me. I roll my eyes as we walk out, acknowledging that he's right.

The cool NYC air hits my bare skin and makes me feel more alert. I don't register much on our walk home other than the feeling of his hand on my waist. It makes me feel warm and fuzzy even though I'm wearing a small, short sleeved dress in mid-April.

I bring my hand to his, lightly touching his fingers while we walk.

He looks down at me and smiles, hugging me closer to him and tightening his grip.

We finally get back to his apartment - which isn't that far of a walk but takes forever given my dizzy and drunken state. When we walk through the lobby, the elevators have red tape in front of them.

"Oh shit... I forgot they're fixing all of these at once... we're gonna have to take the stairs,"
he says, turning us towards the stairwell.

I pout my lip and whine, stopping in my tracks.

"Carry me," I say pathetically, holding my arms out limply.

He bites his lip and smiles, laughing quietly.

"When you're drunk... oh my god," he mumbles. I would never act like this sober, so clingy and needy, but when I'm drunk and exhausted, I turn into an entirely different person.

Nonetheless, he wraps one arm around my waist and one under my upper back, carrying me bridal style up every single stair. I let myself enjoy this, leaning my head against his chest, closing my eyes, smiling stupidly, and swinging my feet back and forth.

"You're lucky... I love you... enough to do this..." he pants when we get to the top floor. He carries me down the hallway and finally sets me down in front of his door, unlocking it.

We walk inside, me stumbling behind him.

"You are so drunk," he says, shaking his head up when I have to catch myself in the doorway of his bedroom before collapsing face first onto his bed.

"It's been a rough week," I mumble, my face pressed against his bedspread. I feel his hand rub my shoulder gently.

"I know," he whispers seriously.

I flip myself over sloppily so that I'm lying on my back, staring up at him. Neither of us turned on the bedroom light, so the moonlight illuminates his perfect features. I get lost staring at him, staring at his perfect eyes, skin, and lips.

"What are you thinking about?" he asks. I don't answer. I reach one hand up and grab his shirt, pulling him down to me. I wrap my fingers through his hair and bring his lips to mine. I suddenly want him so badly I can't handle it. I kiss him sloppily, and relish the feeling of his lips against mine like this. He's hesitant, and he's not as needy as I am, so without breaking our lips I press both hands to his shoulders and flip us over so that I'm straddling him and he's laying flat on the bed. I almost fall off of him while I'm doing this, but steady myself and continue kissing him deeply.

"Y/N..." he mumbles deeply against my mouth.

I don't answer, I just grip the sides of his face with my hands and continue kissing him.

"Y/N, for real. Not right now," he says with a small laugh against my lips. I pull back, offended.

"Why not?" I ask, still straddling him and crossing my arms over my chest.

"Because you are so wasted," he tells me, raising his eyebrows.

"Yeah, but I want you so bad right now," I say, repeating his tone.

"I'm not having sex with you while you're on the verge of passing out," he says, amused by my behavior.

I huff, annoyed at the rejection, and I glare down at him.

I quickly lean down and start kissing him again, the heat in my body growing once more. I run my hands down his chest and under his shirt, trying to pull it off.

I feel him laughing against my lips again, and this time I'm really annoyed. I snap up and fold my arms over my chest again, giving him my meanest stare.

"Whyyyy?!" I complain. "I want this!" I whine.

"Yeah, sure, but you're drunk, and you can't consent when you're drunk. And I refuse to have sex with you when you're on the verge of passing out. So not tonight," he says. I let out a defeated sigh, and roll myself off of him so that I'm laying on my back next to him.

He turns his head to look at me.

"Sorry," he says, still with a tone of lightheartedness.

"You just have such good morals. It's stupid,"
I complain, rolling my eyes.

"Oh, no. Sue me," he says sarcastically, grinning as he sits up and walks to the closet. "Now which of my sweatshirts do you want to sleep in?"