Long Timothee Chalamet Stories

My Boyfriend's Sister's Boyfriend (P2)

Warnings - panic attack

I woke up with a pounding headache to my ring tone. I looked at my phone to see it was my mother. I groaned as I answered.

"Hey," I croaked.

"I have wonderful news!" She squealed. Her shrill excitement hurt my ears.

"Not so loud please," I said.

"Sorry, it's just so amazing. You have to promise not to tell," she requested.

"I promise," I said, laying back down and throwing an arm over my eyes.

"Dillon is going to propose, he got a ring!" I sat up immediately. Marriage? He thought we were marriage material? I felt like I couldn't catch my breath.

"I can't wait. My best friend will be my co-mother-in-law! We'll be together at all the family gatherings. Your father is so excited. "

My heart was going a mile a minute. I was panting. My mother kept going on and on.

"I've got to go," I choked out. I'd let her think I was overwhelmed with emotion, which in a way I was. The emotion wasn't happiness though.

My breath was coming in short bursts. My vision was blurring. I couldn't breath! Panic was washing over me. I hugged myself, rocking back and forth. This couldn't happen. I wasn't ready, I didn't even want to, but I'd be disappointing everyone. I'd gone out with him out of convenience. I was still with him out of an urge to not disappoint him and my family. What was I going to do?

The panic attack lasted until I began to dig my nails into my palm to ground myself. I would just find a way to avoid it. I wonder how my mother knew?

My thoughts wandered to Timothée. Each time I'd tried to picture walking down an aisle to Dillon, Timothée ended up being there instead. Last night had changed me. I didn't think I was a person who fantasized about cheating, I didn't think I was a person who believed in love at first sight. This was all so surreal.

I needed to get my mind off of this. I went to get ready. I headed out the door. I didn't quite know what I was going to do. I drove down to a cute section of the city that had up fairy lights. There was always stuff to do around here.

'Cooking class' was advertised on a sign. Apparently some famousish chef was from here and she'd come to offer classes around town for only $50. It sounded like fun, and I needed to advance my knowledge anyway, I usually made the same meals over and over.

I went in and paid. They told me where to go, and I made my way to the room. The teacher was a middle aged lady with a kind smile.

"I'm so glad you joined, we have someone in need of a partner."

I nearly dropped my bag when I saw who was sitting at the table with a vacant seat. Timothée also seemed surprised to see me. I walked over, as if I were in a dream.

"Hi," I said sheepishly.

"What are the odds of this?" He asked with a chuckle.

"Slim to none," I replied. It seemed the chances of everything that involved him were slim to none.

"You're supposed to put on an apron," he said, gesturing to a pile. I took one off the pile and slipped it over my head. I sensed someone was near me and I saw Timothée had come over.

"Let me tie it for you," he said with a smile. We both seemed to know what this meant. It was an unneeded gesture. We just wanted an excuse to touch one another.

I turned around slowly. I felt his fingers brush my back as he tied my apron. I had to hold back a shudder.

I turned around and faced him. We held eye contact until the teacher gave us instructions. It was obvious Timothée and I were out of our league. I'd hoped this would be a starter dish, but it was elaborate.

"I think I put in too much salt," Timothée giggled.

"Maybe she'll force you to eat the whole thing as a punishment," I whispered back.

"Students, why are we laughing? The art of measuring is no laughing matter," the teacher said and Timothée and I were struggling to hold in our laughter. The teacher was very self absorbed, and took this whole thing way to seriously. We were also pretty sure she was faking her accent.

"The art of measuring," Timothée mocked under his breath, in an exaggerated accent. I could barely hold it in.

"Your laugh is cute," he said, and I felt my cheeks heat.

"Yours is dorky, but in a good way," I told him. He pretended to be offended.

"You're telling me, Timothée Chalamet, star of the little theater down the road, coach of elementary soccer, that his laugh is dorky?" He asked.

"Sorry, I didn't know I was dealing with such an accomplished celebrity," I laughed.

"Soon, I'm going to add master chef to the list," he said, pointing to his absolutely tragic looking dish.

"A well deserved title in deed," I chuckled.

After a couple minutes of silence, I asked him a question.

"Do you really do plays near here?" I asked.

"Yeah, there's a little theater like a mile away, I audition for most of their stuff."

"Anything showing right now," I asked.

"No, but we're prepping. In like a week we're premiering with Willy Wonka, I'm Wonka," he told me.

"You could-" he said at the same time I said "Could I."

"You go first," he said generously.

"I was going ask if I could come or if that would be weird," I said.

"I was just going to say you could come if you wanted. I'd love to have you there," he said excitedly.

"It'll be weird for Willy Wonka to be hot, I watched the old one all the time as a kid," I said off-handedly.

"Ohh?" He asked, innuendo laced in his tone. I realized what I had said.

"So you think I'm hot?" He said, and he knew it was dangerous. He knew the answer and this was worrisome territory. I looked at him and his eyes were dark. I bit my lip, and I watched as his eyes dropped to my lips.

"I think-"

I was saved from answering by the teacher telling us to bring up our final product. I grabbed my dish, moving to the front quickly, to avoid Timothée's questioning eyes.

I got a better assessment than Timothée did. The teacher looked absolutely disgusted by his dish. She told him he was hopeless. We were now outside in the heat of the setting Sun, laughing about it over ice cream.

"You've got some on your lip," he said suddenly, and lifted his thumb to wipe it off. I was transfixed for a moment as I looked at him. The setting Sun cast him in a warm glow, he was practically luminous. I felt my heart beat quicken. It felt like I'd known him years. It also felt like my his heart was a magnet for mine, so attracted to its mate that it nearly pulled itself from my chest.

"I should probably be going," he said, having held his thumb to my lips for far too long.

"Alright," I said. This was the hardest part, the goodbye, because we knew neither of us wanted to say goodbye. We wanted to stay with each other forever if possible. Why did we have to meet at this point in our lives?