(2) messages from:
Noah (from video studies)
>girl i left the party like half an hour ago
>got me a nice piece of man
you sighed and replied to Noah, ready to forfeit and go back to the party shirtless. while you texted the guy who felt like your last hope, mystery boy had his eyes back on you.
he looked at you through half shut eyes, studying your figure, letting them linger on all the good parts. the red on your bra complimented your complexion. the contrast of the rough lace against your soft skin made his eyes flutter.
he pushed himself off of the door frame and you shut your phone and put it in your back pocket. he walked over to you and stood close. so close that he had to look down at you. you were taller than Noah, but that didn't make you tall. this boy had about half a foot over you.
"can i help you?" you asked. you crossed your arms over your chest and stared him in the eye. you could finally see every color of them, how they mixed and melted together. you could also see the layer of gloss over his eyes and the redness around them. each breath you took in smelt like booze and weed.
"no," he replied, grabbing the top of his flannel. "but i can help you," he said and pulled it off of his torso. he gave you one last glance, up and down, before placing it over your shoulder. you raised your eyebrows and found it a bit hard to say something at first.
he read your mind, though, and said, "no need to thank me". he turned around and walked out of the bathroom, but you didn't hear the bedroom door open. you unfolded the flannel and pulled it on.
the warmth of his body lingered on it and it sent chills down your spine. you thought of bringing your arms up to your face to see if it smelt like weed, but you quickly learned you didn't have to. the mixture of his cologne and weed swirled beneath your nose after moving just an inch.
his cologne smelt sweet and a little tropical, but the weed made it bitter. you wiped the stickiness off of your stomach and left the bathroom, leaving your shirt to dry in the sink.
as you walked out of the bathroom, buttoning his shirt, he was on the bed, waiting for you. "how'd you find a towel for me, anyways?" you asked, not looking up. he hummed out something that sounded like 'i dunno' and shrugged.
you looked over to him and he was lying down. you finally were able to take in the room around you. the walls were a dusty pink, the ceiling was low, and the bed was huge. it was right up against the door frame and only a tiny nightstand fit on the other side. it looked out of place in this room, kind of like him.
him. him him him. what's his name? you stared at him, his arm draped over his eyes, his chest rising and falling so slow, and so shallow. is he sleeping?
"you just gonna keep staring or are you gonna do something?" he asked, barely moving his lips.
"what's your name?" you asked, matter-of-factly. you approached the bed and he scooted over. you sat by the bottom of it. he lifted himself up and rested his weight on his elbows, which dug into the mattress. it made his chest look broad, the way his shirt stretched over it.
"timothée" he said, his voice slow and filled with sleep. "t-i-m-o-t-h-e-e, accent on the e" he recited, as if it was a poem, and winked.
"oh, fancy, are we?" you smiled. "sounds french" you told him.
"it is"
"are your parents french?"
"my dad"
"do you speak french?"
"oui, je parle français"
your heart skipped a beat when he responded, as you only half expected him to be able to speak french. you could feel your face light up, and timothée could see you blush. "pourquoi rougis-tu?"
"what's that mean?" you asked, impressed. he just smiled in response and stared at you, a rosey color forming on his cheeks.
"your turn." he stated. you tilted your head and raised an eyebrow. "what's your name?" he asked. you laughed a little, and said, "y/n".
timothée bit his lip, subtly, and smiled. "what?" you asked him, and he just shook his head and lied back down. "what is it?" you asked. you looked down at him and his hazel-green eyes flashed back at you. you noticed an odd shadow on his face, and looked up. the room had a skylight in it.
"that's odd," you said, staring at the night sky through the glass. "hm?" timothée asked. "the skylight. it's weird for a random frat house in New York to have one." he opened his eyes and looked up through the glass with you.
he sat up, slow, but like he had an idea. he looked at the digital clock sitting next to the bed.
11:57 pm it blinked.
you watched him as he stood up on the bed, his hands reaching up towards the sky. he balanced himself by pressing his hands against the ceiling, and he poked his head into the skylight. he pushed it a few times, then turned a lever, and it squeaked open.
"come here," he told you.
"what is it?" you asked, standing up on the wobbly mattress. the space between you and him got smaller the more you stood up. he was crouched over a little, but you fit perfectly between the mattress and the window.
a cool, end-of-summer breeze brushed past your face. timothée's hair danced on his head, softly. the wind pushed the scent of his shampoo through the air and you took a deep breath in. "look," he said, pointing up to the sky. you looked up, but all you saw were clouds.
"what?" you asked, "i'm not seeing anything". he grabbed your shoulders and gently spun you around, so you were facing away from him. he let his hands rest on your shoulders, and you thought maybe he's so high he forgot he was touching you.
he pointed up at the bright, silver circle in the sky above you. "quick, what time is it?" he asked. you looked down at your phone, and he did too. his breath on the back of your neck was cold. 11:59 pm your phone read.
you both watched the small clock icon on your screen tick its way to 12:00. you looked back up at the moon, and timothée looked at you. he told himself he was just trying to look at the time on your phone, but no one could deny how good you looked in his flannel.
a minute went by, and the tiny numbers on your screen and the blinking numbers on the clock changed to read 12:00 am.
"midnight moon," timothée whispered. you turned your head around to him, "what was that?" you asked.
"midnight moon." he said.
YOU ARE READING
Midnight Moon//timothéeXreader
Fanfiction"you don't know what, but something made you do it. maybe it was the the music, the rum, the lava lamp that sat next to the bed, or maybe it was his eyes. but it didn't matter. because either way-- the music, lava lamp, rum, his eyes-- you did it."...
