Long Timothee Chalamet Stories

Houses Of Power (P1)

Warnings - drinking, mentions of smoking

College was.... Uneventful. I was smart enough to float through classes. I didn't have too many friends. I was seen as an outcast or maybe a nerd. It felt odd saying that, college should have put me past such social labels. I just wasn't invited to many parties, I spent many nights alone in my dorm, too nervous to ask anyone if I could piggyback into their plans.

That's why this was so weird. I had self-invited myself to a party. Well, a self-invite was maybe a weird word. My cousin, Bryanna, was a year younger than me, and only started college this year. Even though we ran in different circles, Bryanna and I were relatively close. She had immediately become popular. She was hosting a party, and I hadn't been invited, but I knew she wouldn't mind if I came.

I was sitting awkwardly on a sofa, next to a couple making out. I held a red solo cup full of spiked lemonade in my hands. How did one even make friends? Wasn't it considered strange to just walk up to someone?

"Hi," a voice made me jump. Someone was sitting down on an ottoman in front of me. I nearly gasped but stopped myself just in time.

It was that boy. I always saw him around campus, and he looked so gorgeous. Up close, he was like an ethereal thing. High cheekbones, dark curls, starlit eyes. I never saw him speaking to many people, he was usually reading in the shadows of some building. I mostly saw him at night classes and in the dining hall for dinner.

"H-Hello," I said, shakily.

"Timothée," he held out a large hand, decked out in rings.

"Y/N," I said, noting how cold his skin was.

"Are parties not your thing?" He asked with a lopsided grin.

"Not really, not at all actually. My cousin is hosting, so I decided to try to be social," I shrugged.

"Ah," he said, nodding. He stretched, showing off his slim frame.

"You know, I'm not very social either," he smirked.

"I know, I always see you reading, or smoking," I said without thinking."

"So," he said leaning forward, smirking even broader now. "You've been watching me?"

"What, no, that isn't what I meant," I squeaked.

"It's okay, I've noticed you too," he said, voice getting lower.

"Y-you have?" I asked, in shock.

"Yeah, now, would you like to go back to my dorm and be antisocial with me?" He asked. I gulped. This was wild, it was insane, but maybe this was how you made friends?

"Yes," I said, resolutely.

"Sounds delightful," he said, holding his hand out to me for a second time tonight. I took his hand, and we began to walk out. Timothée snatched a bottle of liquor from the table as we walked out. I was shocked at his brazen attitude, but I also admired it.

The walk in the dark was quiet, and I was glad for Timothée because, for some reason, it felt as though someone was watching us. I shivered, though the air was warm.

"Chalamet," the voice was a bark. I felt my heart jump into my throat. A very muscular boy with close-cropped blonde hair, and nearly dazzling golden eyes, was jogging up to us. It was Birch Firegrass. He was a popular player on the college's lacrosse team. All the girls adored him. I didn't even know he knew who practically anyone here was. Rumor had it that he only hung out with the most elite of the other colleges around here.

"Ah, Firegrass," Timothée grinned toothily.

"I heard you just transferred," he said, but he didn't seem happy about it. In fact, he seemed disgruntled that Timothée would dare come to his turf. I was confused. Timothée didn't even play any sports to my knowledge. He was a loner, not an athletic rival.

"Yeah, well, this place seemed... interesting," I blushed when I noticed his eyes landed on me with the last word. What on earth was going on?

"Who is this?" Birch demanded.

"Y/n," I said, not wanting to share my whole name for some reason. This whole situation seemed thick with some emotions I could decipher.

"I see, and how do you know Timothée?"

"I'm sorry, but I don't know you," I said reproachfully, and I heard Timothée snicker.

"You ought to be careful of Chalamet," he snapped. His tone made me sound like I was a naive child. I stood up taller, attempting to look intimidating, and I was surprised that Birch did seem to back down a little.

"I'm not the one who was creeping on people at night, you ought to be careful of me filing a report with campus security," I growled.

"Whatever," Birch huffed, and walked away. Timothée led me on quickly.

"I don't think you know how hot it is to see someone stand up to Firegrass," Timothée's warm breath ghosted my ear. My stomach was on a rollercoaster.

"How, I mean, how do you two know each other?" I asked.

"Childhood friends, or rivals you could say," he shrugged. I supposed that made sense.

We finally returned to his dorm. It was very nearly empty, seemingly, everyone was out at parties. He brought me into his room. We sat on his bed, and he opened the bottle.

I looked around his room, barely believing that I was doing this. The room was dark, tapestries hung over the windows. He had a guitar in one corner, and many, many books. I liked it, it was cozy. On his bedside table, I saw a pack of cigarettes. I frown at the pack.

My uncle had lived with us for a while, and he was an avid smoker, yet I'd never seen this brand. "Daywalkers", the pack was black, with a bright sun on the front. They looked nearly medieval, like old illuminated manuscripts.

"These are interesting," I said, grabbing the pack as he handed me the bottle. His eyes widened ever so slightly.

"Yeah, Um, my family owns a small business, so I try to support it," he said.

"A small cigarette business?" I chuckled. "That's new."

"Well it's me," he said, flashing a smile.

"Should I take a shot?" I asked.

"Why do you think I brought the bottle?" He chuckled. I took a shot of the drink. It settled in my stomach, only burning slightly.

"So, tell me about yourself," he offered.

"Um, I live on campus, but in summer I'm with my mom. I don't know who my dad is and don't care. I am getting an English major. Ummmm-"

I trailed off, unable to think with his intense gaze. I had to wonder why he cared. This seemed like something out of a book.

"How about this," he offered. "Twenty questions, if you or I don't want to answer, we drink."

"Sounds simple," I offered.

We ended up talking and laughing all night. It seemed like Timothée was actually enjoying my company. I enjoyed him as well, but something did seem a little odd about the whole situation.