ALPHA || TIMOTHÉE CHALAMET

047

Pink light is stretched across the white covers. A ray of gold peers through velvet curtains and rests on my face. I squint at the light. Coming to, I discreetly push myself off the bed, walk to the window, and lift the curtain back just a pinch.

The sky is hues of pink, baby blue, and peachy orange, reflecting on the glistening Mediterranean coast. My eyes dart to the vacant beach below, the sand washed in an orange cream hue, and the still, therapeutic soundtrack of waves. Bliss.

I turn, looking behind me at the sleeping body under the covers topped with a messy brown mop. I creep gently back onto the sheets, perching myself next to him, sitting on my heels. I lean over his head, brushing the brown waves enough to see his face, and plant soft kisses along his cheek and jaw. He's curled on his back, his cheek just barely resting on the pillow, his complexion glowing. Angel boy. I lay down, facing him, tucking some hair behind his ear. My palm rests on his chest and my leg swings up over him. With the lightest touch, my finger grazes his jawline.

"Hmmmm," he groans, eyes still closed, and his hand comes up to rest over my forearm.

"Timmyyyy," I croon, vying him to open his eyes. Playfully, my index finger taps at his bottom lip.

"Hmmm?" he says, turning to face me. One eye peers open, then shuts. He rotates onto his stomach, slings his arm over my midriff, and nuzzles into my neck. I kiss his forehead.

"Timmy," I croon again, tucking a strand behind his ear, fingers nested in his hair. "Let's go see the sunrise."

"Mmmmm...justsnuggle..." he groans, half-conscious.

"Tiiiimmyyyy," I hum.

"Hmmm." He opens his eyes and lifts his head, coyness on his face with a lifted grin, breaking my heart. He looks towards the window and back at me.

I straighten onto my knees, sitting on my feet, holding his hand. "Come on. Let's go down to the beach and see the sun."

He sits up in bed, his eyes puffy from sleep. His hand tousles my messy hair, and I ruffle my hand through his. He leans in to kiss me, and my hand flies over his mouth. "Fuck no, go brush."

So we brush our teeth and pull on warm, cozy clothes. I wear his black sweatshirt over cycle shorts, and he throws on a baseball hat with a hood pulled over, and in minutes we scamper out the door and into the elevator. Standing side by side, I latch my arms around his waist. His forehead rests against mine, and he kisses me like sweet morning coffee.

When the doors open, I break into a brisk walk, pulling his hand behind me until we're under the now pink-and-orange sky. Our shoes are off once we hit the sand, and I burst into a run for the still, swirling waves.

White ocean foam meets my toes, and the the cool sea tickles my bare skin. I wade until the water is mid-calf. I cross my arms, hugging the sweatshirt to my skin as the chill breeze nips at my knees. The stillness allows me to process thoughts, how a month ago I would have never predicted attending Festival de Cannes, much less a spontaneous flight to France planned in just a short few weeks.

I turn around, looking at the most unpredictable thing of all. From a few feet away, I catch him looking at me, lips pressed together in a grin. I gesture him over, and he sloshes out next to me.

"It's so fucking pretty here," I say.

"Yeah it is," he says, and he's still looking at me.

"Absolutely not. None of that." I cringe and step back, giving the water a playful kick, and he laughs as he throws his hands up in reflex.

"She thought the – wait, no, he thought the view was pretty, but she thought he was prettier," I mock, drenched with sarcasm.

He scrunches his nose. "Yeah, that is pretty bad."