Timothèe Chalamet Imagines

║alcoholic║

"No! Let go of him!" I yell, reaching to try to pull my father's arms away from Timmy.

"Y/N, just run to the car. Just run to the car," Timmy says, gasping for air. My father has his large hand wrapped around his neck now.

I watch in horror as my father draws his fist back and rams it hard into Timmy's face. I let out a bloodcurdling scream. He continues to beat up Timmy, who is helplessly pinned against the wall. Timmy deftly uses his foot to kick him right in between his legs. He doubles over, loosening his grip. Timmy uses this split second to escape and grab me by the arm. We run as fast as we can through the dark night, sprinting across my yard. My father chases us, screaming.

"You fucking bitch! You fucking BITCH!"

We get into his car as quickly as possible, and he starts driving away.

"Oh my god. I'm so sorry. Are you alright? I'm so sorry," I say, through pants.

"I'm fine. Listen, Y/N, I really don't want you to go back there any time soon. My parents are gone for a while - they're still in France - can you just stay at our apartment with me? If it's not weird? Or at one of your girlfriend's houses?" he asks. He glares at the road ahead and breaths shaky breaths through is bloody nose, his lips pursed. I'm more concerned about the blood streaming out of his face.

"Yes. Sure, whatever. Are you okay? How bad did he hurt you?" I ask, reaching over to delicately touch his face.

"I'm fine," he says again, eyes on the road ahead. His knuckles are white from how hard he's gripping the steering wheel.

We finally make it into the heart of the city, where traffic slows us down. I'm too rattled to say anything. I feel terrible that he's hurt because of my father.

When we get to his apartment complex, we get plenty of stares walking through the lobby and going up the elevator. He swings his apartment door open, and I flick on the lights, trying to get a better look at his face.

"Do you have first aid stuff?" I ask him.

"Uh, yeah. In here I think." He leads us into his bathroom. I open up one of the cabinets and rummage for some supplies.

"You sit there," I tell him, pointing at the closed toilet.

He sinks down with a sigh, letting me take care of him. I grab a washcloth and run it under some warm water.

"It's gonna sting a little bit," I warn him, before pressing it against his face, trying to wipe off the blood.

His nose is bleeding, and there are cuts on his cheeks and bottom lip. His right eye is also forming a deep bruise. I carefully tend to the cuts with the washcloth before putting some salve on them. I brush his curls away from his forehead, and he closes his eyes and exhales softly as I gently touch his face.

"This is weirdly very relaxing," he says.

I don't answer. I feel terrible.

"What?" he asks, opening his eyes. He sees my guilty expression.

"I'm so sorry this happened," I say.

"Y/N, it's fine. It's really fine. I'm just glad we're both safe now," he says.

"Timmy, it's not fine. Look at you, you're all bloody and swollen - because of my dad!" I say, gently touching my fingers to his face.

"At least I'll look all rugged and cool for the next few days," he remarks, trying to lighten the mood. It doesn't work. "Y/N, really. I'm just relived that you're safe."

I should be the one making him feel better, not vice versa.

He stands, takes the bloody washcloth from me, and guides us out of his bathroom and into his bedroom. He puts the washcloth in the hamper and opens his closet door, grabbing a new hoodie. His has a few blood stains on it.

I can't help but stare for a little too long at his bare chest as he slides out of his old hoodie and into the fresh one.

"What?" he asks, noticing me still staring at him as he throws the old hoodie into the hamper.

"Oh, nothing. I just love you a lot," I tell him. He smiles, his curls tousled around his head. He looks so cute like this - but it would be cuter if he didn't have cuts and bruises all over his perfect features.

"Here. You're going to need clothes too," he says. He's right. Somehow I dropped my backpack and didn't take it with me. So much for my essentials. He hands me a hoodie and a pair of sweatpants, and crawls into his bed while I slide them on. I inhale his familiar scent - rosewater and mint - as I slide into his bed next to him. I curl up against his chest, and he pulls the covers up around us.

"I'm sorry my dad beat you up," I say, into his chest. He hugs me close to him, his arms wrapping around me.

"Don't apologize. I'm fine," he tells me. "I love you," he says.

"I don't know if I can fall asleep."

"Why not?"

"I'm scared he'll find us."

"He won't find us. He doesn't know where I live," Timmy assures me. He starts humming a song, and I listen to the vibrations of his voice in his chest. I fall asleep like this - curled next to my favorite person, and drift into a dreamless sleep.

what no I don't have daddy issues what no way. anywayyyyyy thanks for reading :) I'm really going through a shitty time right now, and this is kind of my escape from life. if you have any advice or requests or anything you want me to do better, lmk. I appreciate all of you so much :) <3