Timothèe Chalamet Imagines

✯dancing in the rain✯

Your POV

"No - get under here, oh my god, your hair!" I yell.

We're scrambling for cover under an awning close by - it belongs to a fancy Italian restaurant. I giggle as he runs up next to me, his shoulder colliding with mine.

We were on the way home from dinner, and we decided to walk and just enjoy the nice night. "It will be good for us," he had said. And even though I had eaten too much pasta, and my stomach hurt, and I just wanted to cuddle up against him in our warm little apartment, I agreed.

Well, the nice night decided to take a turn, and it's pouring rain.

We both start laughing manically, trying to catch our breath. I realize that we're standing in front of the restaurant's window, and tons of faces are staring at us.

"Timmy," I hiss, grabbing his arm through my giggles.

"What?" He's bent over, hands on his knees, trying to gather himself.

"Everyone can see us," I say, pressing my lips together before I can burst into laughter again.

"Oh shit," he says, turning to look at all of the innocent people staring at us. He gives the man closest to the window a short wave before grabbing my arm. "Come on!" he says, pulling me out from under the awning and running down the sidewalk.

I laugh as the cool rain splatters against my flushed cheeks. It really is pouring. I'm laughing harder than I have in a while - there's something about running through the rain in New York City at night that just makes me feel... free.

His hand is still wrapped around my forearm, and we're just dashing through the air. Suddenly, he skids to a stop and being slightly behind him, I smash into his side, almost knocking both of us over onto the pavement.

"Sorry!" I say, catching my breath.

"No, no - look!" he says loudly, over the steady beat of rain. He points one long finger into the alley. It actually isn't really an alley, but a nice open space between two restaurants. The ground is covered in brick, and fairy lights have been strung in between the two buildings. Lush, green potted plants are hanging from the walls and placed around. Music plays from one of the buildings - I realize that a string quartet is playing from one of the restaurants, and the sound filters out into the small space, bouncing around the walls and echoing.

Wordlessly, he grabs my hand, lacing his fingers through mine, and pulls me gently into the space. Rain still pours over us, but I don't care. It's kind of beautiful. He steps back and holds one hand out to offer me a dance. I grin and take his hand, and he pulls me close against him.

He's so good at dancing. He effortlessly leads me, and we twirl around the space, letting the rain fall over us and the music run through us. When one song ends and the next begins, he pulls me closer to him.

Our faces are inches apart, my hands wrapped around his neck as we sway to the music. His wet hair is pushed back, his curls a mop on his head. I grin at him.

He shakes his head and smiles.

"I love it when you do that," he tells me.

"Do what?"

"When you give me that smile. I love it," he says. I can't help but roll my eyes at his cheesiness, but I also can't help another smile that forms on my face. He hugs me closer to him. His warm breath tickles the icy, wet skin on my neck, and droplets of water fall from his curls to the exposed part of my shoulder.

"I also love this dress," he says, wrapping his hands around my waist. I press my cheek into his shoulder. "And I love your laugh. And your voice. And the way you always make tea on the stove because the microwave radiation scares you." I can hear the smile in his voice.

"And I love it when you leave little notes in the folded clothes in my suitcase so that when I'm traveling I always have little reminders of you. And I love the way you treat our cat like a prince, even though he's kind of a jerk and always scratches our apartment up. And I love all of your paintings that hang on the walls," he continues. My heart swells at his random spout of affection.

I pull back so that I can see his face again.

"You're making me blush," I say quietly.

He laughs softly.

We keep dancing for a while, but eventually, we actually get cold. We end up walking the rest of the way to our apartment - luckily the rain has slowed. When we do get home, we both gratefully peel off our cold, wet clothes, and replace them with warm sweats. I love the way his hoodies and sweatpants feel on me - the arms and legs just a little too long, his scent lingering in the fabric. It comforts me.

We curl up on the couch, just like I wanted to, and scroll through Netflix to find a movie to watch. I nestle my head into his shoulder, closing my eyes. He leans his head on top of mine as he flicks through movie after movie, reading the descriptions until we land on one we both want to watch.

Eventually, my head falls from his shoulder to his lap, and he plays with my damp hair, stringing it out and running his fingers through it.

Needless to say, we fall asleep on the couch, listening to the rain pour against our windows and dreaming of dancing in it.