(500) days of him - timothée chalamet x oc

day (374)

His plane was leaving soon and I was too late. This thought raced through my mind as I paced the upstairs hallway, my fingers pinching my bottom lip in frustration. My heart thumped painfully in my chest remembering our goodbye, what we said. I pinched my lip harder to try and snap myself out of these thoughts and instead move on to the tasks ahead: script editing. With a final huff, I dragged my feet down the stairs to my laptop where my work awaited me. As I was on the last step, I noticed a crumpled piece of fabric in the corner by the kitchen.

When I recognized what it was, my heart gave a painful jolt, my eyes beginning to prickle with tears. In his haste to pack, he must've forgotten it. I sniffled and wiped the tears away quickly, grabbing the shirt and tossing it in the closet. Out of sight, out of mind.

I found my laptop and began the mind numbing work, hoping the task would distract me for a while. He's leaving soon and you didn't even say goodbye. I shivered as my fingers tapped the keys, forgetting to turn the heat up despite the recent drop in temperature outside. Fall was my favorite season, and getting to spend it in London was beyond amazing. The crisp blue sky and the crunching of leaves left me feeling breathless with joy, but that was in the past. I pulled my sweater tighter around me as the rain pattered against the window outside. A flash of lightening and the low rumble of thunder in the distance signaled the oncoming storm.

I grew restless at my computer and stood up, the lights flickering as I did so. Although work was the last thing I wanted to do right now, it was a distraction, which I desperately needed. With the last movie wrapping up, I had more free time than I wanted. Without him here, the house was quiet, the pitter-patter of raindrops the only sound to be heard. Although it had only been a week, it felt like a lifetime since he left. Creative differences he had told his management team, refusing to answer any questions inquiring about the circumstances and details of our breakup.

It was only yesterday that Grace had forced me out of bed, insisting I take a shower and "join the world of the living." How can I join the world of the living when my heart has been stepped on, I challenged. She gave me her best mom-look and all but stripped me and forced me into the water. The bonus of the shower is she didn't hear me crying. I was surprised I had any tears left in me, but I always managed to surprise myself when I thought about a happy memory or saw a picture of us together. I knew it wasn't the smart thing to do, but I ached to go to him. I was too angry at first to even fathom us getting back together, but as the days grew darker and lonelier, I felt there was no one else on earth I would rather be with.

I felt my phone vibrate in my pocket, pulling it out to see who wanted something.

I just got through security. My plane is delayed because of the weather. I love you, so much, baby.

My heart felt like it was about to burst from my chest. The rationale part of me argued that I was too weak to see him and not beg him to take me back, especially after what he did, but the romantic part of me wanted nothing more than to be with him again. I itched to text him back, but instead shoved my phone in the nearest purse and scrambled to find my car keys. The airport was about 30 minutes from here, without traffic I could make it there sooner.

Grace is going to kill me.

I slid into the car, almost crashing into the garage door as I reversed out of my spot. I didn't care much for cars, but it was moments like these where I appreciated having a boyfriend who liked fast cars. Ex-boyfriend, I reminded myself, swerving between cars and dodging pedestrians. It was pouring outside, the windshield wipers barely clearing the window of perspiration as I soared down the highway. It was only when I finally arrived at the airport that I realized just how impossible it would be to get to him. I didn't have a plane ticket, so going through security was a big NO. I all but threw the car into park and raced towards the entrance, not caring that security was yelling at me to move my car. Timmy always attracted fans and paparazzi wherever he went, and this time was no different. Despite the huge airport, I still had to weave through throngs of people to get to the ticket counter- I didn't care what airline at this point, all I needed was to find a way to get through security.

"Can I help you, miss?" The woman behind the counter asked with distaste, taking in my distressed appearance.

"Um, yes. I need a plane ticket," I replied, her eyebrows raising in return.

"And where exactly are you trying to fly?" She asked, taking the time to look me up and down.

In my haste to leave the house and get to the airport, I was currently wearing a pair of leggings and an old sweater of Timmy's. I looked like every other female currently at the airport, so I assumed the woman was looking at the bags under my eyes and the permanent ring of red from crying.

I tapped my fingers impatiently on the counter. "Wherever, whenever the next available flight is."

The woman nodded slowly and tapped away on her keyboard, the sound of her acrylic nails against the plastic keys like nails on a chalkboard. "I have a flight for Paris that leaves in one hour," she said, looking to me for confirmation.

"Yes, perfect. Thank you," I said in relief, pulling out my credit card. I didn't bother asking how much it was, but handed her the card and anxiously waited for the ticket to print. Although the storm was still raging outside, it had been nearly two hours since he had texted me, so he could be anywhere. I heard a few girlish squeals as my ticket finished printing, pulling the attention of the woman away. I turned to see what the commotion was, but saw nothing.

"Here you go, enjoy your trip," the woman said, handing me the ticket. I thanked her before booking it to the security line, hoping I wasn't too late. I looked like a fish out of water without any luggage or personal belongings, but in this moment I didn't care what anyone thought of me.

After nearly having a meltdown in the security line, I finally got through and swiveled my head to find any clue as to where he was. Heathrow is one of the largest airports in the world, there was no way I was going to find him in time. I felt tears burning behind my eyelids as I followed signs to different gates with no luck. I heard the same girlish squeal again and finally spotted the person behind it. A small group of girls had gathered around someone by the last gate in this terminal. I heard the familiar click of cameras and felt my heart rise into my throat.

Time felt like it was going in slow motion when I finally made it over, my eyes locking with his. At first he furrowed his brow in confusion, almost like he couldn't believe I was there. I was frozen to my spot, unable to force my legs forward. The tears that threatened to escape earlier began to ooze out from between my eyelids. I saw him say something to one of his security guards, my vision blurring as he began to walk over to me. I felt my stomach drop, not believing this was actually happening as he walked closer, finally stopping to stand in front of me.

He had dark circles under his eyes, his brown curls messy from running his fingers through his hair, a nervous habit he had. "Stella," he whispered, his voice raspy from lack-of sleep.

"Hi," I said quietly, my voice almost non-existent. A million thoughts were running through my head, calling me an idiot for coming and that this was the worst idea ever. I swallowed, my mouth suddenly dry. "I, um, I'm sorry. I should've called," I said lamely, casting my eyes to the ground so his wouldn't ignite me. "I missed you."

I felt two arms wrap around me, my face buried in the soft fabric of his shirt, breathing in and out, trying to savor this moment. I'm not sure if I had been crying this whole time or if I had really started when he held me, but I felt the tears trickle down my face, a sob building in my chest.

"Hey, Stell, it's okay," he breathed, pressing his lips to the top of my head over and over. He puts my face between his hands and wipes the remaining tears with the pads of his thumbs. He gives me a sad smile, his hands still on my cheeks. He's a good 6 inches taller than me, the top of my head grazing the bottom of his chin as he pulls me into his chest again. "God I missed you so much."