peachy. timothée chalamet

epilogue.

timothée screamed.

he'd been wanting to do so for a week and a half. he wanted to successfully get all of his emotions out without punching something, but writing and playing music wasn't helping much. after reading rose's statement, however, he just let loose. he couldn't control himself at this point — he began to yell and swing his arms out, crashing into anything in view.

hot tears slipped out of his eyes and he wiped them away quickly, cursing out loud as the doorbell of his apartment rang. he kicked a path through the mess scattered out on his carpets to the front door, pulling quickly at the handle.

he wasn't expecting dylan gallagher to be standing on his front steps, and he certainly wasn't expecting the older boy's fist to collide with his face.

timothée stumbled backwards, his hand jutting out behind him to steady himself on the wall. dylan entered the apartment swiftly, surveying the space while taking another swing at him.

"you fucking prick." another hit. another jolt of pain and the start of a bruise forming red hues that stretched down his cheekbone. "you knocked up my sister and just expected to run away with her? huh? were you gonna take her somewhere far, far away and try to hide this from us? well guess what, asshole. you can't hide it now."

timothée was on the floor at this point, surrounded by shards of glass that shattered along with his hopes of ever seeing rose again. he didn't think he would see anyone ever again after dylan was finished with him. the look in his eyes was one that could kill, and he avoided looking into them in order to save himself.

"dylan–"

"shut the fuck up," the man seethed. he kicked his foot into timothée's stomach — hard, fast. the boy doubled over in pain, curling up into a ball. "don't ever come near my family again. do you hear me? don't you ever say a word towards them."

"i-"

"i said do you hear me?" he moved his hands down towards his waist. something metal glinted in the flourescent lights of the apartment, and timothée's eyes went wide.

"shit–"

"hey!"

dylan turned around, facing the doorway faster than timothée had ever seen him move. in front of them stood two men, dressed head to toe in new york police uniforms. a sly smile crossed the injured boy's face as the officers took in the scene in front of them. one noticed the gun held loosely in dylan's right hand and drew his own out, aiming it towards him.

"put the gun down and your hands where i can see them."

dylan was in handcuffs and hauled out of the apartment complex before timothée could even stand up. he was finally able to get in a full breath, but not without flinching at the shock of pain coming from his ribs. his best guess was that they were broken and that he would need to go to a hospital soon, but he couldn't resist the urge to reach for his cellphone first.

his fingers hovered over her number, urging him to press call. he stared down at it for a while, his heart beat picking up at even the thought of her voice filling his ears. he's wanted to hear her speak to him ever since he got her phone call a few weeks before. armie advised against reaching out her again, and he's been trying not to, but in his head he was creating any excuse he could to call her.

his finger moved from "call" to "delete contact" before he could hesitate any longer. he watched as her name and number disappeared from his screen and he locked the phone. he needed to move on — to forget her — to learn to live on his own, even though he couldn't imagine living in a world without her.

he never truly can leave her behind, but all he could do was try. and he was willing to try his hardest to.

FIN.