MiniSeries About Timothee Chalamet

Ghost p1

Info - ghost Timmy, drunk, alcohol, lonely reader, stealing, mentions of murder and heartbreak, breaking and entering

I was lonely and my friends had ditched me. I couldn't drive home because I was drunk. This was also probably the reason I thought it'd be a good idea to break into the old abandoned mansion of 15 Lake Tree Street, to sleep off the alcohol.

To my shock, the door opened. I wandered the halls. I very old picture, coated in dust caught my attention. I brushed some away carefully to see a stunning young man. I knew his story, but hadn't seen his face. Death by heartbreak so they said, going mad with grief. In actuality, his mother had killed him, thinking he'd gone actually crazy, and rather than have the shame of that on her name, she killed him. I knew because my great grandfather had passed down the story from his grandfather, who had been the doctor who evaluated the mother.

"You poor thing," I said aloud. "You deserved so much better. The best people get the worst luck." I said and thought about how I'd thrown a party for my friend and yet as the planner I'd still managed to be ditched.

"Can I keep you?" The words seemed to echo in my ears. I turned abruptly. The man in the picture was grey and sullen but visible. He wasn't quite opaque, but I could still see his beauty.

"What do you mean?" I hedged, worried the alcohol had been laced with something else.

"You are the first person that's made me feel my heart again in all these years. I watched you break in, and roam my halls, but I'm not mad as I usually am. I feel as though what is mine is yours."

"You must be pretty lonely," I said slowly.

"Extremely, so lonely I howl at night, begging for an end or a friend."

"I do that too sometimes," I mused. "Can I stay here tonight? I'm very drunk."

"What is mine, is yours," he repeated. We talked into the night, and when I woke up he'd placed a blanket over me. He was harder to see in the morning but he was able to make me breakfast.

"What is it like?" I asked.

"I have to grip things very hard, or they'll fall, but you get used to it," he shrugged.

"These are the best eggs I've ever had," I said in surprise.

"Years and years of practice," he chuckled.

"Why do you even have food?"

"I don't, I stole them from a hen house," he grinned. I laughed.

I visited him everyday after my college classes. My mother said she was worried I kept going out with no one to see, but the opposite was finally happening.

"Could I attempt something, I just want to see if it'll work," whispered Timothée.

"Yes," I allowed. He came to me and placed a soft, ghostly kiss to my lips. I shuddered in surprise at how good it felt.

"Could you feel it?" He asked.

"Yes," I whispered. "Yes I could."