delicate. / timothée chalamet au

seventeen.

I wake up around two in the afternoon this fine Monday, or Wednesday, I can't be bothered to keep up anymore to be honest. As I look to my left, I see the loneliest of sights, Tim's shape in the sheets but him being nowhere to be seen. Being that Tim can usually out sleep me by two hours I make my way out of bed, with the intent of being as quiet as I possibly can so I can scare him. That's love, right?

I hear Tim's muffled voice coming from the closed bathroom. Curious, I press my ear up on the door trying to make out who he could be speaking with.

"Yes, I'm really doing okay, mom."

My eyebrows shoot up, his mom? He almost never mentions her, and if she comes up in discussion he always finds the most creative ways to change the subject.

"Yeah, she's fine too, we're both good mom please stop asking every three seconds."

His voice is soft, and it almost sounds as if he's trying to sound annoyed with the affection he's being given. Like a small child trying to hide the fact that he actually likes when his mom tucks him in at night. Wait-- backtrack, he's told his mom about me? I've never heard him even be on the phone with her before.

"No, it's actually not that bad this year. I almost didn't even remember, and that made me feel like shit... It's just-- well you know." He paused, and I hear him inhale a huge breath of air like his mothers reply caught him off guard. "No, I didn't tell Rose. Because mom, I-- I don't want her to worry about me or feel pity... everyone always does when I tell them what today is."

My heart breaks, I don't know what he's referring to but my heart still breaks for him, having my own first hand experience of not wanting to burden anybody with my problems. "No mom, please don't give the phone to dad-- mom— oh hi dad."

Instantly his voice hardens. Only curt, "Okays," and simple, "Yes's, are exchanged. Not even a full minute later Tim hangs up with a simple, "You too, bye." I hear no shuffling, no steps coming towards the door. Meaning he is sitting on the bathroom floor, alone with his thoughts, so I do what I would want someone to do for me in this kind of situation, I knock quietly on the door.

"I'll just be a minute, baby," he seemed composed until his voice cracks speaking his last word.

"I just need to get my— floss?" I'm a fucking idiot.

"Yeah sure."

I open the door lightly, looking down and seeing him, legs pulled up to his chest, his arms wrapped around them. I instantly bend down, placing my hand in his messy hair. He looks up at me sadly, "Did I wake you?"

"No," I see him blinking back tears. "I— are you okay?" I ask hesitantly.

"Yeah, I don't really know— actually my heart is beating really fast and I'm just— really cold." He starts shivering, his breathing accelerating rapidly.

Immediately I recognize the signs, and sit myself right next to him placing my hands over his knees pushing them so that they lay flat against the floor.

"Hey, baby look at me," I say lightly.

"I'm fine— it's okay, i'm just— I don't understand why i'm..."

I pull his hand to my chest, "Do you feel my heartbeat?" He pauses, trying his best to be still and nods, his eyes still shut. "Focus on it okay? You feel the stripes on my shirt? Trace them, count them, okay?"

Tim follows my words and we still in silence for the next few minutes, as his breathing slows and his shivering stops.

"You're okay, I've got you," I wipe away the tears in his eyes as he leans forward to embrace me.