Don't Stop Now | Timothée Chalamet Smut

Prologue

I met him in October outside his apartment. He was a work of beauty. Tall, curly hair and those dreamy hazel eyes. He was perfect. Nothing less than a Greek God. The most special thing about him was his name. Timothée.

Everytime I spoke his name, it seemed to get better and better. I would sit alone on my bed and chant it because it made me remember the way I felt the day I met him.

"Timotheé, Timothée, Timothée." I repeated his name until my throat grew sore.

How We Met
__________
I knew I loved him the first time I saw him brush away those wavy curls behind his ear with his holy hand accentuated with rings. He was on a phone call, a stern look on his face. I was just walking past his apartment complex when I bumped into him. I plopped down on the ground due to the impact, while his strong, lean body didn't budge.

His eyes found mine, the crease between his eyebrows smoothed and I knew it was love at first sight.

"Oh I'm so sorry. I'm in a hurry. Are you ok?" He blurted out, sporting a soft worried look on his face and offering his hand to help me up.

"It's ok. I'm fine." I breathed timidly. I accepted his help and readjusted my skirt, all the while relishing the feeling of his soft hand.

His eyes.

They were beautiful. They had this strange hypnotizing effect that I couldn't find the words to explain. I was finding it hard to look away. They had a slight tinge of green that made them so breathtaking.

Silence filled the space between us. He was staring at me and I at him. The New York wind was making his brown curls sway gently.

His face was so picturesque that I couldn't help but wonder if there existed a man more beautiful than him.

"Hello? Timmy, are you there?" The voice from his phone broke the silence and brought him back from the trance which I was still experiencing.

He returned to his call and started to walk away before giving me a small smile. I couldn't look away. My eyes were fixed on his retreating figure.

I mentally dared him to look back. As if he had read my thought, he turned his head towards me and left a lingering gaze, trying to figure out what had just happened.

He promptly ended the call and walked back towards me.

"Hand me your phone." He ordered.

I was startled by his terseness and complied to the task unknowing of what he wanted to do with my phone.

My hands shuffled in my pocket until I pulled out my 3 year old phone, the case worn down from years of use.

I gave him my phone and his hand briefly touched mine. It was then that I realized he wanted me to have his number.

Without saying a word he added his number to my contacts and walked away.

The mystery of it all intrigued me.

That is what made me fall in love with him.

The mystery.