𝐬𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬 ─────⋆⋅★𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘰𝘵𝘩é𝘦 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘭𝘢𝘮𝘦𝘵

XIII - tellement, Miel

"So how come you're acting?" Timothée asked, hoping to get back to how they had been not so long ago.

Amelie smiled again at him. Sipping her wine and looking out the window like she had before.

He watched her reflection, the same urge to watch her in thought creeping over his mind. This time she felt his gaze on her, she didn't look at him, too scared to see something she could convince herself that meant he felt more.

If she created such illusions for herself it would haunt her for days.

"I don't know, I like the idea of it, I'm just scared." She fiddled with a strand of hair curled at the base of her neck.

Her movements so inherently gentle and feminine. She was intoxicating to watch - which was why everybody did.

"Why are you scared?" He looked at her concerned.

"Oh like with everything," she mused, "I'm just terrified I'm not good enough to be brilliant."

Timothée listened - she could see his focus in his eyes. Like he had at the cinema with a crease in between his brows, nodding along for her to continue.

"I don't want to be just good. I want to be great or nothing. And if I'm not going to be, well sometimes it feels so heartbreaking to even consider - which is all the time, that I might just die." She whispered nonchalantly.

"Miel, don't talk like that." He looked sad, a little lost in what to say. "Please. That's not something I ever want to think of."

She smiled. "Why not? Don't you dream of what people might say when you're in a grave!" She giggled trying to wipe the worry from his eyes.

"Miel." He warned.

"Oh come on, a man who changed cinema with fragility - beautiful and charming the heart throb of the 21st century and pioneer of vulnerable masculinity in acting." She laughed shaking her head, a little out of breath.

She leant forward across the table as if she was telling a secret.

"Wouldn't that be a wonderful way to be thought of?"

He leant forward, their faces close once more. Dangerously so. So dangerously close she could see the hazel in his eyes caught in the chandelier light, the way the red wine was still wet on his lips staining them rouje.

How his face caught in the light on one side gave him a pronounced shadow on his face of his profile. How piercing those eyes were. Silently stealing your soul.

"Tu me manques." He spoke softly. She couldn't look at his lips. Or his eyes. So she looked everywhere but him.

I've missed you. I've missed you?

Finally she saw a smile creep over his face and she couldn't help but catch a glimpse. Oh what a mistake that was, with the way he looked in the dimmed light. Or maybe just with rose tinted glasses on from wine and youth.

"Tellement, Miel." He added as she rested her head in hand, smiling in the way that made her eyes look at you like you were being kissed.

"Moi aussi," she admitted as propped his chin up on his hands laced together. "T." She added after she paused.

Her voice was heavy with emotion and it wasn't something either of them could hide. Even without physical touch; their eyes were everywhere their hands would've been.

Someone started playing Moonglow by Billie Holiday on the piano and Amelie let out a small laugh of display. Wiping the corners of her mouth with her napkin.

"What's so funny?" He asked intrigued.

"Oh," she shook her head, "just something silly."

"Tell me." He insisted.

She crossed her legs and turned herself to watch the pianist. Her head resting in her hand and her body swaying slightly side to side.

"I just love this song." Her voice low so that it didn't speak over the music.

He nodded at her, turning to watch the pianist with her. She let herself notice how good he looked in a black suit.

"You look good." She complimented him randomly. She shrugged. "What, I compliment all my friends?" She turned back to watch the music.

Timothée didn't say anything just stole visions of her, wishing that he could paint or sketch or take photo's. He took one on his phone anyway.

They saw a man making his way over to their table. It was Mr Wes Anderson. Amelie got up immediately, shaking his hand admitting how big a fan she was. Timothée was humble but also not so - on edge as Amelie.

He put his hand on her jumping knee, calming her down. It reminded her to take a deep breath as Wes sat down and joined them.

"Well I'll cut to the chase. I want both of you. You're perfect together - so much chemistry. You'll both meet the team tomorrow to get to know them all, then it's kind of all guns blazing. I'm very excited to see what you guys will bring to this." He nodded his head standing up again shaking both hands.

"You two aren't together?" He asked T.

Timothée shook his head, "nah man, just friends."

"Hmm." Wes corrected his suit and turned to Amelie. "Lovely meeting you. We'll go over everything tomorrow, introduce to the whole storyline." She nodded eagerly.

He turned and left and Amelie threw herself into T's arms. He hugged her tight hearing her laughing in that wonderful way.

"Oh my god! T! What?! What even just happened?" She exclaimed trying to brush her hair off her face.

Timothée didn't say anything just kept smiling and bought her back into a big hug, dropping his head into the space between her neck and shoulder. The sensation of his breath giving her goosebumps

"Let's celebrate!" Timothée exclaimed clapping his hands together.

Amelie turned to him, she didn't think and just agreed. "Okay, sounds perfect."

It wasn't until in a taxi leaving the restaurant, when questioned on their intended location, she looked to Timothée for one.

"44th Street." He answered, turning to Amelie. "I know this great jazz club, you'll adore it." He grinned and Amelie got butterflies, the way he knew her so well.

The fact that these were her dreams coming into fruition with him by her side.

It was so wonderful it made you dizzy.