MiniSeries About Timothee Chalamet

Rooftop (P1)

Info - abusive parents, parent with alcohol addiction, perfectionist parent, verbal abuse, physical abuse, forbidden love, secret relationship, allusions to smut

Moments like this with him were peace personified. He was all I wanted all the time. I missed him the second he left. The way we were brought up were so different, yet similar, and we'd been drawn to one another immediately.

He was raised by a single mother who was a strict perfectionist, and she saw him as not enough. From the moment Ms. Chalamet had knocked on our door, offering cookies to us as a "we're so excited to move here" gift, I'd taken a look at her son and swooned.

Our eyes had met and his angsty silence had turned into a shy smile. He had waved at me and mouthed a hello. I was smitten. My father had stumbled, clearly hung over, to the door in a stained wife beater and sweat pants. Timothée's mother had raised her nose, a look of distaste on her face. My father, never attuned to anything unless it was a slight towards him, had smashed her cookies and called her a bitch.

Timothée had been looking at me the whole time, clearly worried that this violence would be turned on me. I had already felt safe enough with him to show him with my eyes that it did get turned on me, often. My father had slammed the door and told me that I wasn't to see that women or her son.

It hadn't stopped us though. The very next day, we'd met outside the apartment complex and sat together and ate some snacks that I'd packed in hopes that he want to see me. We'd talked into the night, and by the end he had asked me shyly if he could kiss me.

The kiss had been soft, comforting, and had lit a fire in me for the boy who held me so tight. Since then Timothée and I had spent as much time together as we could manage. We found going to the apartment pool at night, when his mother had primly gone to bed at nine o'clock, and my father had passed out from alcohol, was our safest option.

"Fuck," he said and pulled me to him immediately. He kissed me desperately.

"I always forget how lovely you look in your bikini, even if I just saw you, the real you is always astounding, compared to my piss poor imagination," he swore.

"How are you?" I asked, holding his face.

"Got a B in Biology," he said simply and because I knew him, I knew what that meant. I knew he'd been berated for hours.

"Oh baby," I held him to me as tight as I could. He gripped me, and I knew how much he loved me when he did that. Most of his movements were graceful, poised, and calculated. When held me this way, I felt so needed.

"Let's get in," I said and turned and jumped. He was close behind me. He immediately had me back in his arms and was kissing all over my neck and chest.

"Been needy for you, you're like the only person I can really trust," he said, hand moving south quickly.

"Let's fix that yeah? I've missed you too."