timothée chalamet requests

☾ request seventeen

timothée's pov

"Just be careful, okay?" I said, leaning against the doorframe as she applied her lipgloss.

"Yeah," she nodded, "I will."

"Y/d/n," I said sternly "I'm serious."

She lowly scoffed and screwed closed the tube of lip loss. "Dad, I'm not stupid-"

"I never said you were." I interrupt.

"Then you know that I won't do anything stupid either," she says, her phone starting to ring.

"Hello? Yeah...okay...I'll be right out." she hangs up with a smile. "My friend's here."

"I'll walk you to the door."

She rolls her eyes. "Dad, come on."

"I'll walk you to the door." I repeat.

She mumbles under her breath and walks past me, racing down the stairs.

"Ready to go?" y/n asks.

"Yes." our daughter says as we approach the front door.

"Well, have fun and be safe. Remember to call us when you're on your way home and also call us if you need anything or just want to come home early, we'll go get you. Okay?"

I'm shocked that y/n seems so calm about the entire situation.

"Okay, I will." our daughter nods, hugging her Mom and giving her a kiss on the cheek.

"Bye, Dad." she says and gives me a half-hug,

She runs out the front door. She gets into her friend's car and waves as they drive away.

"Do you want to order dinner? I'm too beat from work to cook."

Her voice muffles in my ears. "Timothée."

I close the door. "What? Sorry."

"Do you want to order dinner? I don't want to cook tonight."

I nod. "Yes, let's order."

"Are you okay?"

I nod again. "I'm fine."

Two hours later...

"What is it?"

"What is what?" I ask, taking my last bite of food.

"Your whole demeanor's off, something's bothering you." she notes.

"It's y/d/n."

"What about her?" she asks, taking her last bite of food as well.

"I'm worried about her."

"Because...?"

I click my tongue. "Because she's sixteen and at a party right now. I can't see and don't know what she's doing."

Y/n laughs. "What's wrong with that? We were sixteen once and went to parties all the time. Let her have her fun."

"Exactly," I say "we were sixteen and went to parties all the time. Don't you remember what we used to do at those parties?"

My mind goes back to the times where everyone at the parties we went to would be doing one of three things:

1.) drinking
2.) smoking
3.) hooking up

Y/n rolls her eyes and stands up, picking up her plate to take back to the kitchen. "Don't be such a hypocrite, Timothée."

She walks to the kitchen and I follow behind her with my own plate in hand. "How are you okay with this?" I ask, a bit angry that this is something we don't agree on.