ALPHA || TIMOTHÉE CHALAMET

022

Each night, as long and fluorescent and eternal they may be, must end. The morning comes at last.

With the morning comes my fluttering eyes, the light of day reaching inside, peering them open. The ceiling. Light spilling through the window cracks and onto the wall. Remembering whose bed I'm in.

Every event of the night, the party, the drinks, Timothee's panting breath in my ear, the need for us to touch all through the night, dancing to Tyler The Creator, kissing, kissing so much, all of the private details the nighttime forced out of us, kissing, fucking, all of the kissing, baring our souls, the window seat, kissing. Being curled up on him. Feeling wanted. Feeling known. Feeing safe. Piece by piece, my mind begins recalling all of it.

Just as my mind is recalling, it is vehemently rejecting.

I have to leave.

I am planning out the same escape I made the last time by slowly exiting the bed, slowly grabbing my things, hopefully this time without him noticing, when I look next to me and notice that his eyelids are fluttering.

He turns his head, and his mouth curls into a groggy, adorable smile. "Hi," he croaks in his morning voice.

In a mess of pillows and his comforter, I'd woken up nearly on his chest, arm curled around his slim frame. His arm, which was held around my shoulders, pulls me closer, and he rests his lips atop my head.

His smile. It kills me. I want to smile back, I really do. I'm finding it impossible.

I have to leave.

I tap his hand, prompting him to lower his arm and let me out. I sit up, rubbing at my eyes, pinching the bridge of my nose.

"Marley?"

For a moment, I sit frozen. Replayed emotions of the night making my heart clench.

I kick my legs over the bed, hopping out. Quickly searching the ground for something to wear. His shirt sits by the foot of the bed, and I grab it for now, pulling it over my head.

"Marley!"

In swift movements he leaps from the bed, swiping his boxer shorts from the ground and pulling them on.

"I just remembered I picked up a shift today," I fib.

"You said you were off today. You did this last time." The tone in his voice and look on his face pang me with guilt.

I'm lost for words as we stand facing each other. His phone abruptly rings from the nightstand, and he quickly walks over, reading the caller ID and taking the call.

"Sersh. Hey. I can't talk right now. Yeah. Can I call you back?"

I'm in the living room looking for my clothes. Where the hell was it that I took them off? My shirt is by the couch. Panties by the window. I collect my shoes and find my pants in the hallway.

Timothée leans against the bedroom door frame, arms partially crossed, staring at his feet. I want so badly to run up, to throw my arms around his neck, to shower his face in kisses and push the curls back from his face.

"This," I muster, breaking the silence, "I don't know what the fuck this is."

He nods, listening, staring at the ground, and my heart breaks a little.

"Timmy." My voice breaks, but I stop it. "You're - I like you. I like you so much. And I know that maybe you like me too. I just don't think you like an accurate version of me."

"So let me try," he chimes. "Let me know you. In the daylight. Sober. No strings."

"Timmy..."

"Just stay, okay? We can have breakfast. Don't go yet."

"Timmy, it's more than that, okay?"

"I know it is. It's so much more. Why does that have to be a bad thing? The only thing simple here is that I like you, Marley, and you like me. You know that. That's what we are. We're two people who go together well and really like each other."

"Timmy."

"And I know that this sequence of events has been out of the ordinary but somehow, every time, we keep ending up in the same place, and it's always a good thing, and I can't get you out of my mind, and I like you, and you know that you like me, too."

"Timothée," I respond. My voice breaks. "I can't let this happen again."

Hours ago, we sat under the moonlight that poured through his window. The window seat looks different in the daylight. Now, once again, we're strangers who got to know each other too well. Standing feet apart, staring at the floor.

"Fuck," he mutters under his breath, pinching the bridge of his nose and shuffling his feet.

I clutch my purse to my chest, hating everything about this moment.

"Just stay."

"I'm sorry."

He stares into me, and we stand quietly for a moment, and I am forcing our souls to be ripped apart.

"Okay," he responds, "it's okay," just before I walk away, booking it to the door before I have to face any second thoughts, entering the cold morning air and hearing the door close behind me.

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a/n: I'M SO SORRY PLEASE DON'T HATE ME