ALPHA || TIMOTHÉE CHALAMET

046

a/n: hi! this is more or less a filler chapter, but i promise the chaos is coming. ty again for your patience, and as always, i adore reading your comments.
next one this weekend!

******

My hair drapes to my mid-back in blown-out, icy-blonde waves, and I slip thin spaghetti straps over my shoulders. The camisole-like bodice of my black jumpsuit is decorated in detailed lace over black mesh, with a plunging v-neck and wide-leg lower half. My ring finger rubs at the outer edges of the rose-gold shimmer on my eyelids, more-so fidgeting than adjusting. I pick at my lashes to ensure they're not clumped. Behind me, Timothée zips the back. His fingertips brush at my bare skin, pricking like electric volts. I pull my hair to the front of my shoulder, out of his way.

"You look beautiful," he puts, seriously and straight-faced, eyes to the back of my neck. He says this the same way someone would state that the sky is blue. He pulls my zipper. "You always look beautiful." I look for his eyes in the mirror, and his face tells me that he knows what he said and meant it.

He isn't set to walk the red carpet this afternoon as he's attending only as a regular guest. There would still be, of course, press to meet and fans to greet. After completing my look with platformed Dr. Martens, I put my phone and other essentials into a purse as Timothée waits by the bedroom door. He wears a long, blazer-like jacket with taupe and grey stripes a black mock-turtleneck tee, jogger-style trousers and boots. His hair is parted near its center. I follow him out the door, and he holds his hand out behind him for mine.

Iris and her assistant meet us in the downstairs lobby, along with Saoirse and some of her team, waiting for our car. A chill breeze runs through my spine, and the black jacket in my arms is now around my shoulders. My hand is gently squeezed twice, and I'm caught off guard.

Timothée looks to the ground in front of me. "Just because we can't do that very often today," he whispers loud enough so that only I hear. I watch the profile of his coy grin, and he leans to kiss my shoulder.

From the corner of my eye I can see Iris looking in our direction, and his affectionate gesture seems to trigger her to walk over. She pulls something from the yellow manila folder she carries. "So I'm sure Timothée has talked to you. And you know more or less what to expect today."

I nod.

"Here." She holds out a lanyard with a laminate card. "Wear one of these and stick with me today, if you can."

I read the card. PR Assistant.

"He told me you're a journalist, so it's not wrong."

"Thank you," I tell her, recalling what Timothée mentioned about a plan. Iris walks away. My hand is squeezed once more.

"Okay?" he asks. I nod in return, my hand squeezing back.

"If anyone asks, we can also just say you're here with me," Saoirse says, appearing at my side in a decorated navy-blue pantsuit.

On the ten-minute ride, the three of us take selfies in the backseat while admiring the outside view. We gush about the Suspiria premiere later this week, Timmy raving over Luca, my excitement at meeting him and attending the film's first big screening. The barricade fences begin as we arrive closer, several cameras and photographers in wait, a herd of spectators gathering at the metal fences. Timothée sits by the window, arm resting on the door. He smiles from ear to ear at the organized chaos outside. He's so excited.

Like a reaction, I lift our intertwined fingers and kiss the back of his hand.

Then we're at the entrance, exiting the car, and there are press on either side. He walks ahead near Saoirse, and there are cameras aiming for the best shots. Then we find the source of cheers and screams. "Timmy!"

He makes a beeline to a barricaded line of fans holding up phones and some posters, one that reads Bonjour Timothée. He's like a magnet, acknowledging nearly each single one of them, making effort not to miss a single peace-signed selfie, signing everything, giving his heartfelt thanks as he's handed gifts and pairs of socks. Iris and I are a couple yards away, and I am following behind her, my back straightened as I try and blend in with press and event staff. She doesn't look back at me once, and I can only pray that I'm as invisible as I feel. The lanyard around my neck is my invisibility cloak. Still, I wear my genuine enthusiasm, beaming in case of cameras aimed my way.

After a little over ten minutes, Iris helps to usher Timothée to the door, navigating through a small pool of press. I keep my head low as I hear cameras shutter, breathing again when we're seated in a secured area near the back of the large theatre, Timmy next to me. I exhale further when Saoirse sits at my other side, her hand meeting my knee with a gentle squeeze as she sits.

"Good?" I hear next to me. His fingers graze at mine under the armrest. "Okay?"

I smile back, maybe from the adrenaline rush, maybe from pure excitement. "Good."

I am lost in the film for the two hours that follow. When the director and cast stand at the front of the theatre, hand in hand, we join the audience in a much-earned standing ovation. We are lost in a sea of attendees as we trickle out the theater's front double doors. The sun has no plan to set until 9 PM here, and it is bright as midday outside.

We're seated in the back of a car again, this time on the way to dinner. Timmy nuzzles at my neck, kisses my shoulder, and squeezes my hand. I lean and kiss his cheek, my fingers at  his chin, and he turns his head to peck my lips. I am beaming, and I can tell that he is, too.

******

i confess that i hardly edited this one, and honestly i am rushing through these small fillers with hardly enough detail (ugh) in order to just hurry up and get to the chaos. it's coming! promise!

in other news i made a new tumblr to pass the extra time, because of course we are still on tumblr and wattpad in the year of our lord 2020, so give a follow and a hello if you'd like (jomvrch.tumblr.com)