Timothée [Sequel!] [Timothée Chalamet]

chapter three. timothée.

Time went excruciatingly slow on the flight to Paris. I had been so anxious to see Adele that I was ready to fly the plane myself just to get there faster.
I had paid for the WiFi on the flight, which gave me an excuse to look at the last message I sent Adele, which she had read. I sent her another.

Me
I'm on the flight right now.
I just really wish you would
text me back.

I waited for a response, watching the typing bubble come up and disappear.

Adele
No.

I smirked to myself, feeling butterflies begin to gather in my stomach.

Me
I can live with that one
message.

I turned my phone off and closed my eyes. One message was really all I needed to help me through this flight. She was stubborn, but I liked it. It helped confirm my one fear wasn't true, that she only liked me for who I was to other people.
As I kept my eyes closed, listening to the soft hum of other people talking and the occasional turbulence, my mind began to race. Thoughts of Adele and possibly never seeing her again kept me awake for the entire plane ride. I couldn't bare it.

Paris was just as beautiful as I had remembered. Of course it had only been a few months since the last time I visited, it was hard to not miss it. Though usually during cab rides I would admire the scenery, and people watch every now and again, my mind was distracted. I was ready to get to my hotel and to call Adele.

There was something in the back of my mind as I had unpacked in my suite and hung up my clothes in the closets. Why distract Adele when she's spending time with her mother?
I felt selfish once again, but of course I only needed just a little bit of her time. An hour or so to see her beautiful face again and to hear her voice. I just wanted validation. I wanted to explain my side of the story.
From the back of my pocket I took out my phone and pressed the call button on her contact listing. It rung.
"Hello?"
"Adele... you—"
"Yeah... I know."
I breathed a sigh of relief, sitting down as I realized I was pacing around the small sitting room. The balcony doors had been opened, letting the fresh air circulate through the suite. I felt my heart rate speed up.
I listened to her breathing at the other end of the line, and I was instantly brought back to the nights we spent together. Her steady breath that had always been so comforting to me.
"Timothée?"
"Right! Sorry... I, uh, got distracted."
"Why are you calling?"
I gulped, "I think you know why."
She sighed on the other end, and I nervously picked at a loose thread on the beige cashmere sweater I had been wearing.
"I don't know if that's such a good idea..."
"Why?"
"I-I just can't see your face right now. I'm sorry."
Before I could protest, the voice and the breathing on the other end of the line was gone. The three beeps coming from my phone had signaled the end of the call.

Part of me wanted to give into my anger and frustration just to slam my phone against the wooden coffee table in front of me. The other part of me was desperate to keep my sanity.

I needed a drink.

I walked out of my room and through the hallways, sliding on my sunglasses as an attempt to not be noticed at first sight. There was a bar downstairs, hopefully there wouldn't be many people at this hour.
Thankfully, my wish had been granted, and the bar was nearly empty. I had taken a seat asking the woman for a vodka martini.

I drank it slowly, hoping that by the time I had finished, Adele would call me back. I was never the type to believe that women played hard to get. I took no for no, and waited for a change of heart on their terms.
With Adele, she usually didn't have a change of heart. So, I texted her.

Me
Please, come see my pathetic face.

I tapped my fingers against the bar table, hearing chatter from the lobby and the faint music in the background. It was painful waiting for a response. Especially painful knowing I might not get one in return. If only she knew what she did to me.

I was finally at the end of my drink, and only really noticed when the barkeep suggested I have another. I politely declined, paid, and walked out of the bar with my hands in my pockets.

Adele
Fine. Where should I meet you?