Long Timothee Chalamet Stories

Houses of Power (P2)

Warnings - smoking, feeling sick, mentions of alcohol

Timothée had helped me stumble back to my dorm in the dark. He seemed to see exceptionally well, especially for the dark and the alcohol. I had fallen into bed and dreamt of Timothée.

I searched for him around campus the next day but didn't see him once. I was a bit disappointed. I had such a good time last night.

That night, I went to the library to study. I hated that even as an English major, I still had to take a little math. I was shit at Math.

I heard someone clunk down across from me. I was shocked to see it was a grinning Timothée. I stayed quiet, knowing I needed to focus on my work. It was hard to concentrate when I felt his eyes glued to me.

"What are you doing?" I asked finally when I realized he had not gotten any books out.

"Enjoying the view," he stated plainly, and my cheeks heated.

"Don't you have homework to do?" I asked.

"Nope," he said, popping the P. How bold could one get?

We spent at least fifteen more minutes that way. I had read the same paragraph over at least ten times, and I still had no idea what it said.

"I think you should stop studying," Timothée said.

"You do huh?" I asked him with a lopsided grin.

"Yeah I do," he smirked.

"And what should I do instead?"

"Come with me to the student center," he offered easily.

"There won't be anyone there," I laughed.

"Yeah but that's the point, we're antisocial remember," he teased.

"Okay fine," I said, shutting my books.

Timothée offered me his arm, and I took it. We made it to the student center, giggling. He sat down at the large piano they had there and patted the seat beside him.

"I can't play," I said.

"Just want to be close to you," he shrugged. I felt my stomach do a flip at that. I sat next to him, my thigh on fire where it touched his.

He began to play a song I recognized easily. It was Olivia by One Direction.

"You saw the Louis Tomlinson poster in my bedroom didn't you," I laughed as he sang. His mouth quirked up, and he nodded as he continued to play. Finally, he made it to the part where he was supposed to sing Olivia, and I was shocked when he said my name instead.

"I live for you, I long for you, y/n," he continued, playing expertly. I was on fire, and I looked around to make sure we were alone. I tentatively laid my head on his shoulder, my first bold move of the night. He finished the song and I looked up at him.

"That was nice," I said, hoping my eyes showed how much I had enjoyed it. He picked up my hand and kissed the back of it.

"I think we should date," he said abruptly.

"You do eh?" I asked, trying to hide the way my heart raced and my breath hitched.

"Yeah, I do," he said.

"No way mister, you've been suggesting things all night, I'd like a proper request please," I laughed.

"Y/n, will you go out with me?" He asked.

"Yeah," I said, grinning ear to ear.

"I need to smoke, care to join?" He asked. I followed him outside. He lit his cigarette and sucked in. The smoke smelled different than normal cigarette smoke. It was heavier and sweeter.

"That smells really good," I said, inhaling.

"Yeah? Why don't you try one," he said, in a way that sounded much too eager.

"I couldn't, I've never had one," I said.

"Just trying to drum up business for my parents," he offered. "Come on please, you took your liquor well. I want to see how you take this."

"Why do you want me to do bad?"

"Maybe I like how your lips look," he whispered, and I could've melted right there.

"One puff," I held up a finger, and he nodded. He handed me the cig, and I realized I'd be putting my mouth on something that his mouth had touched.

I inhaled deeply and tore it from my lips almost instantly. I began to hack and heave.

"What'd it taste like?" He urged, eyes bright for some unknown reason.

"How do you smoke that, I feel sick," I gagged.

"So you didn't like it?"

"Not at all," I said.

"And when you say it made you feel sick, are you being literal, or just over the top?"

"Literal, I feel like I could puke," I said. I pounded on my chest, but my body felt weak.

"Interesting," he said. I sent him a glare.

"Thanks for caring," I snapped.

"Oh, oh, I'm so sorry," he said, changing on a dime. "I went into the son of entrepreneurs for a second."

"I feel dizzy," I said.

"You poor thing, I'm sorry, let me walk you back to your dorm."

Timothée did as he said, and carried my bag for me too. I felt increasingly worse as I walked. Once falling into bed, I thought I'd fall asleep immediately, but I was too dizzy.

The next day I felt like I had the flu. This was so strange, I'd never heard of this happening from cigarettes. I called off all my classes. Timothée called me later that night, asking if he could bring me some soup. I agreed since I still felt like shit. He was really weird about me permitting him to come into my dorm room, I supposed it was just good manners. When I ate the soup, which had a strange, but not unpleasant, aftertaste, I immediately began to feel better. I tried to ask Timothée what he'd put in it but he said it was a family recipe, that always worked and he wouldn't reveal it.

I had to admit, Timothée was a bit odd. However, I was still falling pretty quickly.