Calling Him By My Name [Armie Hammer + Timothée Chalamet | Charmie | mxb]

36 | Timothée

I've never been kissed so recklessly.

I'm shaking, tremors of sheer joy coursing through my body in waves. My face is damp, but I don't know if the tears are mine or Armie's or both. My hands tremble, fisted in Armie's hair, my whole body gripping him for dear life.

The prickling sensation of his unkempt beard burning my skin, the warmth of his tongue caressing mine, the sweet softness of his lips slotting with my own, the sheer pressure of our mouths fused together, is too much. It's sensory overload; my body can't keep up. One minute, I'm waiting forlorn in line, about to board an airplane that would take me away from everyone I knew and loved - and the next minute, I'm in the arms of the love of my life.

Slowly, my senses awaken to the commotion around me. The defeaning sound is the first to register. Screaming, cheering, hollering of our names, whistling, even crying. There's a massive throng of people gathered around us - because we're not only two men causing a scene by kissing in an airport; we happen to be two of Hollywood's most sought-after celebrities at the moment, and they've found us. There's uproarious cheering and clapping, people talking over each other, screaming, struggling to get past security and reach us. Uniformed airline security personnel are keeping the crowds back, giving us a wide berth not unlike a spotlight. They're radioing in for backup. I recognize the faces of Jake and Austin and Jesse and the others, and Liz and the children, looking on in shock.

"This is turning into a fucking mob," Armie yells next to my ear, tightening his grip on me.

"Let's get out of here," I agree, "if we can..."

It's kind of scary. Security is yelling orders, people are going absolutely crazy, the flashes are blinding, the sound of professional camera shutters a telltale indicator that the paparazzi are here. Sure enough, reporters are scrambling to push through the crowds and set up as close as possible to the scene, talking animatedly into microphones. Reinforcements finally arrive to escort Armie and I off the scene through a cleared path, picking up my luggage and carrying it for us towards the nearest exit.

"It's a damn circus in there," I hear them mutter as they shield us with their bodies, arms outstretched and guiding us out of the building. My ears are ringing from the screaming of fans who recognize us, reaching out as far as they possibly can just to touch us. Amidst the whirlwind of madness, all I'm aware of is Armie's body glued to mine, his arm wrapped protectively around my waist like a lifesaver and his lips pressing frequent, reassuring kisses to my temple.

I'm on cloud nine. I'm soaring. It feels like we float out of the airport, the details fuzzy and unimportant in light of the joy I feel.

Eric is gone. He took the flight home to Australia and I'll probably never see him again. Luckily, I know where he'll be staying, so I can mail him the ring. I can't keep it. I don't want to keep it. It never felt right, anyway; I would stare at the foreign object on my finger with more numb shock than genuine happiness, unable to reconcile myself to it. So I take it off and shove it into my coat pocket. I'll miss him, as much as I would've missed any of my friends. But any sadness over the rupture of our relationship is greatly overshadowed by the joy of being with Armie and the kids again. Hindsight being twenty-twenty, I know I would've deeply regretted abandoning Ansel, my family, Armie, Liz and their children - even the seven dwarves. I would've cried myself to sleep every night. If Armie hadn't come back for me, I would be miserable in Australia with a man I'd been trying so hard to love because it would be convenient and conducive to the circumstances as I saw them. I wouldn't have been happy, not a chance.