Timothèe Chalamet Imagines

✺brother✺

Your POV

I stand in the middle of our kitchen, arms folded over my chest, staring straight at the full glass of red wine. Timothée's glass of red wine. The glass of red wine that has been sitting out for five hours now. I am seething with rage. I jolt and pick it up roughly, intending to set it in the sink. I do it to roughly, and the glass shatters all over the sink.

I fight back tears of pure anger.

I have to remind myself that there's a huge, problematic change in my life that is causing my emotions to be more delicate than usual. I probably shouldn't be angry with him.

I don't even give a fuck if I don't have the right to be angry. I am angry. I am furious.

He's told me time and time again that he would be back for dinner, that he would spend just one night with me, that he would stick to his word and come home.

This is my final straw.

I know he's filming, and he has work, and I need to support him. His career is demanding. It's not just important to him, it's important to me too. He got home a month ago from a three-month trip to England to film a movie, but I can count on one hand how many times we've had dinner together since then. It doesn't feel like he's come home.

I have something I need to tell him - the thing that's uprooting my entire life. My little brother was just diagnosed with stage 3 leukemia. I've known for five days now and I need to tell Timothée, but every night he comes home later than he says he will, and he's exhausted. He just goes straight to bed. He's told me for the past week that he could be home to have dinner with me, and every single night I've cooked for two. Every single night I've thrown his food away.

I'm still standing in the kitchen, staring at the broken wine glass. I sigh angrily and start to ferociously pick up the pieces, but only manage to give myself a nasty cut.

"Shit!" I say out loud.

"What's 'shit'?" Timothée just opened our apartment door, and with a grin he throws his bag onto the couch and walks into the kitchen. I glare at him, and when he sees my expression and my bleeding finger, his face falls. "Oh no. What happened?" he asks.

"Why are you home so late?" I ask, my voice shaking with emotion. Now that he's standing in front of me, I know that I shouldn't be mad at him. He can't control it, and if he could I know that he'd be here for me.

"I-I'm sorry. I feel terrible that I keep saying I'll be here and then I'm not. I just can't really leave whenever I want to," he says.

"Well, you should quit making stupid, empty promises! I mean, I've thrown out your dinner for, what, five nights straight?! I'm sick of you not being here! It feels like you don't even care about me!" I feel the words rip through my throat, almost screaming at him. I am being mean. None of these things are true.

He looks hurt for a second, and then takes a deep breath.

"Look, I'm sorry. I know I haven't been here. I'm sorry. I could call and see if I can take the day off tomorrow... if that works?" he asks. I continue glaring at him, all the while guilt panging in my chest.

"No. That's not enough! I want you here more often consistently!" I demand.

"Y/N, you know this is my job!" His voice rises. Great, now I've made him angry. "This is my career, and I'm really sorry I haven't been here - I really am - but I can't just ditch my responsibilities! I'm not just going to abandon my schedule like that!" he yells. He's right. He's exactly right. I know I'm being ridiculous.

"I just - I'm angry! I'm just angry! This is so unfair! Why is this happening to me, this is so unfair! I don't deserve this! None of my family deserves this! I'm never going to get through this!" I'm not even talking about him anymore. I'm spewing about my brother. My voice cracks as I yell, and I start sobbing soundlessly.

He walks over to me and wraps his arms around me, holding me close to him. I feel his hands run up and down my back as I sob against his chest.

"What's all this about?" he asks softly.

I sniffle pathetically as I pull back.

"My... my brother was just d-diagnosed with stage 3 leukemia," I finally tell him, avoiding his gaze. It feels both relieving and terrifying to say the words out loud. I continue to cry as Timothée holds my shoulders, looking at me with wide eyes and not saying anything for a moment.

"Oh my god. What? Are you okay? When did you find out?" he eventually asks. He runs one hand across his forehead and through his hair, looking at the ceiling.

"I found out, like, five days ago. I-I wanted to tell you b-but I didn't know how," I say through tears.

He looks back down at me, his green eyes etched with concern and shock, before pulling me back into a hug.

"I'm so sorry," he says into my hair. "I'm so, so sorry."

We stand there, in the middle of the kitchen, swaying slightly as he hugs me.

"Let's go to the couch," Timmy says eventually.

I nod into his chest and he gently pulls me to the living room over to the couch.

"How is he doing?" Timmy asks quietly.

"Not good," I say, wiping my eyes with the palm of my hand. I realize my finger is still bleeding from where I cut it on the glass, but I don't care. I can't feel it. "He's starting treatment soon, but apparently these past few days have been really... um... just really rough for him," I say, my voice quaking.

"When can we go back to Oregon and see him?" Timmy asks. I finally meet his eyes.

"I don't know. I was planning on going soon... you'd come with me?" I ask.

"Yes, of course. Of course I would come with you, if that's okay with you. I'm so sorry I haven't been here... I wish you felt like you could tell me earlier," he says. I sigh.

"I'm so sorry I took my anger out on you. I didn't mean anything I said. I was mad at myself for not telling you, and I'm just mad at the universe for doing this to my family," I tell him.

"Don't be sorry. I can't imagine how hard it must have been to keep that all in." He takes my non-bleeding hand in his, and I meet his eyes. "I love you, Y/N. And I'm going to help you through this," he promises.

"I love you too," I say, tears starting to fall again.

He holds me close to him and lets me cry about the unfairness of the situation until I fall asleep against him, listening to his heartbeat.

oh my gosh. over 800 reads?!?!?! this is so amazing. I never would have imagined this. thank you :) also, if you've lost family members to cancer, I feel for you and I get it. it's really, really tough. :')