𝐒𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐄𝐲𝐞𝐬 • 🖤 • 𝐓𝐢𝐦𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐞 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐭

XXII - leave the world behind

Amelie watched her reflection in the car window, as her focus shifted from the New York streets to the stranger opposite in the glass who met her eyes. Her hair was toussled into an updo, diamonds hung from her ears and draped over her neck and shoulders, down her spine. On loan - of course.

A strapless Bordeaux-red corseted dress held in her waist as her breathing became shallow. Finally the Met Gala was here and in true New Yorker fashion everyone who was anyone was making there way. She sat in the traffic with her headphones in, Taylor Swift becoming the soundtrack to her debut on the red carpet.

Finally, the car pulled up and before retouching her lipstick one last time, she stepped out of the car. The crowd fell silent and Amelie could feel their eyes loom over her, she held her head up high and took a deep breathe.

This was her moment. This was all hers.

She made her way onto the carpet, to here shutters of lenses sound like an ocean during a storm. Amelie closed her eyes one last time, and when she opened them once more a look landed on her face that no one had seen before.

People would swear she looked like an image from Old Hollywood, and then she smiled and the world seemed to smile back.

She could her name begin to be repeated by a hundred voices; all clambering for her attention.

Suddenly, as if the crowd had got their voices caught in their throat they watched her turn to look over the steps below her.

And then she heard his name a thousand times over, screamed at the height of shrillness.

A deep shiver grew over her skin. But then he looked up to her and his eyes. His eyes always said a million things he shouldn't.

They started at the hem of her dress, over the fishtail blooming out from under her knees. Over her hips, and up, up to her eyes.

He blinked slowly. As if it were the very first time they'd seen each other. Which, she supposed, it was. They'd never seen each other in that lighting before, as if everything was different, all fresh and new. Except, it wasn't.

And the whole world could see it. All that history, all their longing, all the desire so blatantly painted over their faces.

And the whole world watched in as much awe as Amelie as Timothée made his way up to stairs, achingly slowly, towards her.

He stood finally on the step below her, their eyes level to one another. And his lips parted to speak, but then they paused open and spread like a brush stroke over his face.

His eyes glistened in the light of a million flashes.

And then he spoke, so sweetly. "Hey, you."

Amelie smiled, biting her lip from giving into her mesmerising grin.

"Hey you." She scoffed.

He wrapped his arms around her waist, and she placed her hands on his shoulders grinning into his neck.

The pictures showed him close his eyes for a brief minute. As he inhaled deeply, feeling her heartbeat against his chest.

"I'm so happy you're here." He whispered, a secret for only her to hear.

"T." Amelie warned him. Pulling away.

"No, no, it's okay." He grinned reassuring her. "It's okay. I'm ready." He smiled and she closed her eyes, deeply exhaling.

Her thoughts were shot, like they always were when he spoke.

He placed his palms on both sides of her face and let his lips rest ever so gently on her forehead.

The screams became dulled as Amelie found her emotions soothed, like the sea smoothed over the edges of stones.

"Come on." He smiled, tucking her hand into his. "Let's go inside."

And they left the whole world behind at the door.