Long Timothee Chalamet Stories

The Snarky French Boy (P4)

Warnings - panic attack

Timothée hadn't changed much after that day. He was slightly nicer, but not by much. I saw him most nights, sneaking out with girls in the river. I always fight with myself on whether I watched or not. It made me incredibly jealous. He wasn't around all that much, and when he was, he was snarky as ever. He still hadn't cashed in his favor for letting me touch him. I couldn't stop thinking about that.

"How have classes been going dear?" Asked Nicole.

"My teacher is fed up with me submitting drawings of the same 'model' which happens to be your son. Because apparently, I can't get him out of my head," I wanted to say, but I didn't.

"I need to draw something from a birds eye view, but I haven't seen any tall enough buildings around here," I said.

"Oh! I know one, and Timothée can take you," Nicole said excitedly.

"Timothée can do what?" He asked, sliding in the room and grabbing a bagel.

"You can take her to Fausse Eiffel," Nicole said happily. Timothée paled.

"I can't take her there, can't she go herself," he said, worrying his lip,

"What if she gets lost," Nicole tutted. "You can take her."

"What I'd the Fausse Eiffel?" I asked, trying to pronounce it with a proper accent.

"It's a smaller version of the Eiffel Tower, it's a little way out of town so Timothée will drive you," Nicole explained.

"Mom, I have things to do," he whined.

"No you don't, it's summer. Now get your keys."

Timothée was grumbling. He grabbed my arm and yanked me along angrily. He was stomping from the house, with me in tow. He yanked open his passenger side door, with a sarcastic bow he gestured towards the seat. I got in and buckled up and he slammed the door. He go into the drivers side, and started it up. He immediately turned on music, probably so I wouldn't talk.

I was shocked when I heard a beautiful sound about five minutes into the ride. I turned to see Timothée was singing along to the radio.

"You've got an amazing voice," I said in awe when the commercial break started.

"Oh, what me?" He asked, cheeks turning pink. "Just kinda average."

"No, it's good, really good," I said.

"Alright, let's hear yours," he said.

"Change the station, it's playing ads," I said. "Plus most of these will be in French."

"No, there's English stations," he said, fiddling with the radio. Finally, he found one playing Green Day's 'Wake Me Up When September Ends'. Thankfully, I knew this song. I sang along with it, not able to make eye contact with him. When I finished he was smiling.

"Pretty good," he smiled. The rest of the way we sang songs from the radio together. However, his mood soured again once we were parked.

We walked towards the tower. He was fidgety in the elevator. I wondered what his issue was. I carefully turned to a blank page in my sketch book, not wanting him to see the other pages.

Finally, we were at the top. I happily sat down and began to sketch out some of the things I saw. I leaned over the rail a bit to make sure I had things right.

"Careful!" Timothée snapped, yanking me back. I gave him an odd look, I hadn't been in any danger.

I was working pleasantly when Timothée started tapping his foot. I rolled my eyes, and continued to draw. I heard him let out a breath, and I ignored him.

"How much longer?" He asked.

"Good art takes time," I said.

"Do you have an estimate?" He whined.

"Timothée what is the-" I stopped myself when I saw his face. He was drenched in sweat and even paler than usual.

"What's the matter?" I asked.

"Nothing," he said, looking away, but I saw his hands shaking.

"Come here," I said.

"No," he said, too fast.

"You're afraid of heights aren't you?" I asked.

"No, I'm not," he snapped.

"Then come here, stand next to me at the edge," I told him. He slowly walked forward, his fists clenched. He was shuffling. His eyes were darting everywhere and his breathing was becoming erratic.

Soon, I was regretting my dare. He was having a full blown panic attack. He was just shaking his head back and forth, trying to breathe.

"Hey, hey, I'm sorry," I said, and came over to him. "Breathe, can you breathe in and out for me?" I asked. He was trying. Suddenly, I put my arms around him, giving him pressure to stabilize himself.

"I'm okay," he finally said.

"Come on, let's go back," I said gently, removing myself from him.

"But your class," he said.

"I can look at pictures online," I shrugged.

"Okay....thank you," he said. We got back to the house and I lied and told Nicole I'd gotten a beautiful picture done. Timothée sent me a thankful look. He walked with me back to my room.

"Thanks again," he said.

"You're welcome, sorry I pushed you," I said, pushing a strand of hair behind my ear.

"Hey, look here a second," he said. I did as he asked. He bent down, and kissed me. I was shocked, but I kissed him back, my free hand winding into the curls at the nape of his neck.

He moved back after a second, and my hand dropped.

"Why did you do that?" I asked.

"I wanted to see what it felt like," he shrugged.

"What did it mean?" I asked shakily.

"Nothing," he smiled and went back to his room. I was left reeling in front of my door.