his blood - timothée chalamet [18+]

7

archer sat besides me at the diner, and there was timothée sitting behind archer but he was facing me.

clyde was seated near, i wasn't too worried about him only because he was behind me—i'd only able to see him if i turned around.

archer spoke but his word seemed blurry, maybe because i was too focus on timothée.
i couldn't help but notice timothée's wristbands, and knitted bracelet. a ring placed on his middle fingers, all the things i've never noticed before.

"you alright lacy?" archer asked, as he bit into his food.

"yeah, why do i look a certain way?"

"you look concerned. you pulled eyebrows together, like something seemed wrong,"

"nothing is wrong," i nod, pretending to be calm.

archer turns back to see what i was looking at, "is there something you are distracted by?"

i nod. "no,"

archer is still looking behind, him and timothée make eye contact, timothée tilts his head, still looking at him— i can feel the grudge between them, especially timothée.

timothée looked like he could kill him. like he wasn't afraid.

"the fuck is he looking at," archer mumbled, turning back to look at me.

"that's the sergeant,"

"i don't give a fuck who he is,"

i drink out of my straw, awkwardly staring at archer. i didn't know what to else to say.

"you weren't staring at him though, right?" archer asked.

"no. i was looking at the door, then i thought of how i crushed my finger between the door," i lied, i held my finger up to show him.

"is it broken?"

"no. just ripped,"

"who fixed it by the way? was it that guy, clyde," he asked.

"yeah,"

"i'm familiar with him, he's nice, do you think he's nice?"

"i mean i barely speak to him,"

"i hope it stays that way,"

archer was always like this, scarily overprotective and possessive. he loved me. that was why.

"everything alright?"

i knew that voice. timothée. archer looks at me and i look at him, just after i looked up at timothée.

"yeah, why wouldn't it?" archer says.

"seems like there was a problem," timothée says.

archer straightened his neck, narrowing his eyes at him, "are you trying to make things a problem?"

"it's my job, relax," timothée says.

"can you just go sergeant 82," i say quietly, for some reason i didn't want attention to be drawn—since we were in public, in a room filled of people.