𝕰𝖕𝖍𝖊𝖒𝖊𝖗𝖆𝖑 𝕰𝖓𝖈𝖔𝖚𝖓𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖘 | Timothée Chalamet Imagines

Stormy Nights

Storms were your mortal enemy. "Hate" seemed like a mild term to describe your relationship with them. When thunder rumbled and lightning cracked, all you wanted to do was burrow beneath your duvet, the way a child hides from monsters lurking in their closet. Usually, when storms struck, your boyfriend was there to calm you. He would hold you close, shielding you from the tempest outside, cocooning you in his embrace, and turning up the TV just loud enough to drown out the howling winds.

But this time, he wasn't.So here you were, nestled under your cozy duvet, occupying the center of your bed, with headphones on, trying to drown out the weather's fury with the soothing melodies of your favorite artist. It used to be his voice that comforted you during storms. Here you were, snuggled beneath your duvet, clutching a pillow for comfort and security, seeking refuge from the raging tempest that would usually be his arms. And here you were, hidden beneath your duvet, tears streaming down your face as the rain pelted your window. It wasn't the storm causing this heartache; it was the fact that your boyfriend of two years had broken up with you just three days before your birthday, leaving you to weather this emotional tempest alone.

Three days before the storm, your boyfriend had told you he loved you, but that long-distance was too much. Three days before the storm, he confessed his love but lamented that distance disrupted his work. Three days before the storm, he'd looked into your eyes and whispered those words, but he'd concluded that love alone couldn't bridge the gap.

Two days before the storm, he'd packed his belongings. Two days before the storm, he'd slept on the living room couch. Two days before the storm, he hadn't embraced you even once. Two days before the storm, you'd called your best friend to relay the devastating news.

One day before the storm, your boyfriend had unhooked his door key. One day before the storm, he'd avoided making eye contact. One day before the storm, he'd walked out, leaving you shattered. One day before the storm, your best friend had promised to visit you soon.On the day of the storm, you sat alone. On the day of the storm, you celebrated another year of life. On the day of the storm, your heart crumbled into countless pieces.

You were perched on your bed, attempting to drown out the thoughts of the last 72 hours and comprehend that this was how you'd spend your birthday. As you focused on the music enveloping you through your headphones, your phone's ringtone startled you, jolting you from your melancholy. 

It was your best friend calling. You answered with a half-hearted smile, hearing their voice ask, "Happy birthday, Y/N! I know there's a storm going on. Are you okay?"

"Well, I'm currently cocooned under my duvet like a child.""Can't you just—oh, I forgot, sorry."

You knew what they were about to say, and just the thought of it, his name, his voice, his face, threatened to unleash your tears. With a deep breath, you replied, "No, it's okay, don't worry. I'm doing fine, really. It's not the best birthday ever. I'm cold, tired, and I—"Suddenly, your phone call was interrupted by a knock at the door. With your best friend still talking in your ear, you cautiously rose from your bed and descended the stairs to investigate. A shadowy figure stood outside, and your best friend advised you to answer it, thinking it might be him, the one you couldn't help but think about.

You reached for the door handle, slowly swinging it open. There, drenched and holding a box, stood someone unexpected."Timmy!? What?""I told you a few days ago I'd see you for your birthday! Now, let me change my clothes, you can open this present, and we can cuddle on the sofa."You were astounded. He had promised to visit you, and here he was, fulfilling that promise. As he changed, you opened the gift, your heart warming at his thoughtfulness.One thing was clear: you didn't need a man in your life as long as you had Timothée as your best friend. Well, that was until something extraordinary occurred later that night.