Timothèe Chalamet Imagines

❈picture the end❈

Your POV

I roll over onto my other side, praying it will give me some sense of relief.

It doesn't. My entire body hurts just as bad. I feel so swollen and incapable. 

I sigh loudly in frustration, squinting my eyes annoyedly through the dark. 

Next to me, I feel the bed move. Great. Now I've woken up Timmy. 

"Y/n?" he asks groggily. "What's wro - did your water break!" he yells it, and he's suddenly very awake. I force myself to turn back over so that I can face him. 

"No, no," I assure him. He's sitting upright, and I can see the wild look in his eyes even through the dark. 

"Oh," he says. He melts back down into the bed. "What's wrong then?" he asks me. 

"I just can't get comfortable. I'm sick of feeling like there's a bowling ball wedged in my body. I want her out now," I tell him. He moves closer to me and reaches one hand over, brushing my hair back with his long fingers. 

"I know," he whispers. His other hand rests beneath his cheek, smooshing his face in the cutest way. It makes him look so young. It reminds me of how young we actually are. But I can't worry about the trials of young parenthood right now, because a new pain begins stabbing at my stomach. 

I gasp in quickly, scrunching my eyes shut. 

"What? What?" Timmy asks, yet again extremely alert. I feel him sit up again, and both of his hands are on my shoulders. 

"I think... she's moving..." I say through the pain. I keep taking deep breaths. 

I feel his head press against my shoulder so that he's knees, sort of hunched over me. 

"Just keep taking deep breaths. I'm so sorry. I wish I could take this all away from you," he says quietly against me. 

When the pain subsides, I finally open my eyes. I realize that the top of Timmy's curls are tickling my chin, and I focus on that rather than the pain. He slowly moves away from me, sitting on his knees, but keeps one hand on my shoulder, rubbing lightly. 

I squint at him through the dark. 

"Are - are you crying?" I ask. I can see the glimmer of his glassy eyes in the tiny shred of moonlight that sifts through our curtains. 

He shakes his head quickly and brushes his eyes with his fingers. 

"Let me go... I'll go get you some pain medicine," he says quickly, getting off the bed and leaving me there alone. 

I stare at the ceiling, unable to find the energy to sit upright. 

He's been so good to me through all of this, just like I knew he would be. I'm starting to feel bad about the toll it's taking on him. He's just as anxious as I am about everything. I can see how worried he is. He thinks he's good at hiding it, but I see the dark circles under his eyes in the morning, alluding to a sleepless night of stress. I see the way he rubs the back of his neck and bites his lip throughout the day. 

This pregnancy has been scary. I've had lots of complications, lots of pain, and lots of hypotheticals thrown at me for what giving birth will actually look like. I guess my body just isn't as capable of this as most women's. 

He comes back with a glass of water and some prescribed pain medication that's still safe for me to take. I force myself up, and he quickly sets the water and pills on my bedside table to help me, placing one hand on my lower back. 

I'm panting when I sit up, and I can feel the layer of sweat that's covered every inch of my body due to the pain. I rest against the head board.