Timothèe Chalamet Imagines

❁grieving❁

Trigger Warning: This depicts description of grief and death. If these could be triggering to you, please do not read.

Your POV

He hasn't moved from the couch all day. He's been wrapped in that blanket, only his head poking through, staring blankly at the wall and occasionally falling asleep. He hasn't spoken a word, hasn't eaten, hasn't moved an inch.

His mom was in a car accident late evening yesterday on her way home from the airport. She was hit by a drunk driver. The drunk guy survived, but she didn't. She didn't.

It's evening when I finally make a real effort to get him up. I've given feeble attempts throughout the day, tried to talk to him, be with him, but I'm met with either silence or unengaged grunts.

I walk slowly to the archway leading to our living room, stopping and staring at him for a moment. He's just curled up, entirely lost in his thoughts.

I carefully make my way into the room and sit down on the couch next to his head. I move my fingers to his hair, pushing the blanket off of his head and gently petting his curls back. He doesn't acknowledge my presence.

"Timmy," I say softly after a while. "Do you want any water? Is there anything I can do for you?"

I continue slowly pushing his soft hair back from his head, over and over, trying to soothe him. Up close I see that his face looks hallow, his pale cheeks sunken in and deep, purple shadows under his eyes. His lips are pressed together.

He doesn't answer my question.

I lean down and kiss him softly on his forehead, hoping to comfort him as much as I possibly can.

"I know how you're feeling. I'm... I'm so sorry. I just want you to know that I am here to help you through everything. All of it," I tell him. I lost my mother too, so I understand his reaction of shock.

He nods his head slightly.

"Thank you," he croaks out.

"I'm going to get you some water. I'll be right back," I tell him. I leave for the kitchen and fill him a cup of ice water before returning. He's finally moved - he's kind of sitting up, supporting the upper half of his body with one arm. I sit next to him again and hand him the water. He takes it from me and sips at it.

He just stares at me for a second, and bites his lip, his eyebrows creasing upwards and tears slowly filling his reddened eyes.

"What am I gonna do?" he says, his voice cracking and strained. He shakes his head and looks down. He hands the glass of water back to me and I set it on the table next to us just before he leans down and wraps his arms around my waist, burying his face into my stomach. His body shakes for a moment before he starts screaming into me.

I can't help but sob with him. I loved her too.

I wrap my arms around his head, holding him tightly against me and bending my head down near his.

"It's going to be okay," I whisper softly to him. "It's going to be okay... It's going to be okay..."

Over and over again.

He doesn't move from this position. His sobs weaken eventually, and after a while I can tell he's asleep again. I don't move. I want him to sleep for as long as he can right now.

Without waking him, I move to a more comfortable position and drift into a deep sleep myself, still holding his head in my arms.

***

The morning sunlight seems to pierce into my closed eyelids.

I slowly open my eyes and remember where I am. The reality of what's going on crashes over me all at once, and I can literally feel the pain in my chest. My head feels heavy, my eyes feel swollen, and I feel... empty.