timothée chalamet imagines

the boy next door

your pov

I get off my bed and walk over to my window, opening it up with a loud smack. "HEY!" I scream as loud as I can, that practically makes him jump.

He walks over and opens up his window. "Can I help you?" he asks.

"Yeah, you can. Turn your music down, it's too loud."

"Is it too loud?" he rests his arms on the windowsill "or just not your taste?"

I cross my arms, getting angry and annoyed. "Listen," he says "I can play anything you like if you want. Sinatra? Taylor Swift? Nirvana? What do you like? Name it."

"Silence." I pout.

He laughs. "Silence..silence..silence," he repeats "alright, I'll give it to you."

"Thank you." I say and close my window, getting back on my bed. My phone pings and I open up my text messages.

timothée chalamet

it's too quiet.

deal with it and leave me alone.
read at 6:47 p.m

I go back to reading my book in the, now, comfortable silence. That silence is soon disrupted by small tapping sounds against my window.

I practically throw my book onto the floor in anger and walk over there. Looking down at the ground, I see a couple of mini-eraser pencil tops are laying there.

"What?" I throw my hands in the air.

He motions upward for me to reopen my window and I do. "What?" I ask again.

"Are you home alone?" he asks and I nod "do you want to come over?"

"I'm busy."

He stretches his head, looking behind me and into my bedroom. "Doesn't look like it."

I roll my eyes. "Goodbye, Timothée." I close my window once again.