ALPHA || TIMOTHÉE CHALAMET

048

I wanted to remember the evening that followed forever.

In my head, I took the night and bottled it into a glass vial to keep forever in my pocket, in the bottom of my purse. I kept it like a diamond necklace clutched tightly in my hand, memorizing each curve and smile and furrowing of eyebrows I saw lit across the dining table by candles. A night where it was only us, just us, and we were entirely clueless of the days which would follow.

******

A vital trip component seemed to be just how much I was sleeping, deep and much-needed rest likely mixed with lingering jetlag. After Timmy and Iris left that morning and before sinking into another blissful nap, I took out my laptop and responded to emails in bed. I pushed the conversation with Iris to the back of my mind. I didn't have the energy to sort through quiet rage.

"That's...that's kind of fucked up," Lara told me over FaceTime.

"I really don't want to think about it," I'd responded.

Timothée returned and woke me a couple hours after noon. In my loungewear (which seemed to be my staple travel outfit when I wasn't in makeup and heels), donning sunglasses and one of his hats, we went into the town just a short walk from the flat. Timothée wore his hood over his hat along with sunglasses, blending in with passersby and rendering him almost unrecognizable, which I understood was on purpose. This trip was, of course, our first time being out together during the day, and I understood enough that we couldn't do anything like hold hands. Joking to myself, I imagined making out with him in the middle of the sandwich shop solely to antagonize Iris, who had made it quite obvious that she didn't like me for whatever reason. I never brought the conversation up to him.

"What should we do tonight?" he said between a bite. He had the evening free and was set on us going somewhere.

I sipped soda through a straw.  "What if we did a restaurant tonight?"

"Okay. What about someplace...nice?"

"That could be fun."

"Well, we have a reservations at L'Saison tonight, so hope that's cool with you."

That was how he told me we were going to a fancy, five-star restaurant located right on the water. "I mean, when in France, right?" he said to my bewildered reaction. He later left for a meeting with a director, and I stayed in town strolling through shops, purchasing some postcards and a pair of handmade earrings, and taking some scenic photos before heading back.

I was in my towel, post-shower and combing my wet hair when he returned later. He walked in and kissed the dampened nape of my neck. I beamed at his reflection in the mirror. He caught it before I could look away.

"What?" he asked, smiling.

"Nothing," I tossed back, veiling my abashment.

I added pink shimmer and winged black eyeliner to my lids, brushing translucent powder onto a blushed and bronzed complexion. Once my hair was dried, I stood at a mirror and slipped an emerald-green silk dress over my head. I adjusted the fabric at my hips.

"Holy hell," I heard quietly from the bed behind me. He was on his side, propped up on his elbow, looking at me the same way he would watch movies.

An Uber took us to the restaurant and Timothée gave his name to the hostess. We were ushered through a dim, candle-lit interior to an outdoor table, located on a back balcony overlooking the water. Under a shade, hugged by brisk weather under an evening sun that did not yet have plans to set, the circular table was lit by two candles at the center. The hostess poured champagne in two glasses, and we clinked them together. Across from me he sat in a turtleneck and jacket getup, his hair parted in the center, a breeze tousling at the strands in his face. The glow of the evening sun rendered him only more magnificent to look at.

We dined with the sound of waves, conversing, his hand squeezing mine across the table. His chin rested on his other hand, ignoring etiquette faux pas with his elbow propped on the table. The restaurant was an intimidating level of lavish. I couldn't remember the last time I was anywhere similar, and Timothée admitted that he felt out of place, too. We nevertheless indulged like we knew exactly what we were doing, like upscale tourists with a bucket list, like an anniversary dinner.

Life from a year ago was as far as it had ever been. A year ago I was shattered fragments of glass, graduating college and ripping myself from the thing I once honestly believed was love. Today, everything was unimaginably flipped. I had a beautiful home in the city with my best friend. My career was in sudden upward stride. I had a workplace that I loved, I had people I loved, I had a therapist helping to guide my way, I had family at home in California that loved me unconditionally. I had Timothée, who had quickly become more than any word could suffice.

Later at the flat, after I washed off the makeup and we changed into sweats, we moved outside to the balcony floor with a bottle of wine we passed back and forth. The sky was a deep pink as daylight disintegrated behind clouds. We sat sideways against the railing, across each other, legs resting against one another. It reminded me of the nights we had spent behind closed doors and looking out our apartment windows, staying up the whole night like childhood lovers. Instead of city lights, waves brushed against the sand dunes below.

Champagne and pinot noir had lulled me into a balanced ease, the two of us talking and giggling, once again feeling as though I'd known him my whole life, and everything, all of the trips and flaws and petty conflicts were going to lead to the total and complete surrender to my heart. I looked over the water while Timothée grazed his fingers along my leg, feeling everything, remembering everything, holding it all to my chest like a handwritten letter.

He looked at me and said, "Marley, I'm in love with you."

His gaze lowered after the words entered existence, only the waves filling the white noise. I could only look at him. He was all that I saw.

"I love you, Timmy."

Everything else in the world had taken a pause. Time stopped. For just one moment, everything was just as it should be, in the stillness of the night, an ocean away from home, enveloped in sweatshirts and each other. Only the dim living room light shone on the arcs of his complexion. Hands cradled my face, fingers wove through my hair, and he kissed me like nothing I had ever known. I felt his smile against my mouth. Everything I didn't know I wanted was there in my arms. He pulled my legs around his waist by the crook of my knees, inching me closer as his lips pressed to mine. His arms scooped around my back and my hands cradled his face, pressing kisses against his temple, resting my hand just underneath his jaw, cradling his face against my cheek.

"You are the most beautiful thing I have ever known," I mumbled against his temple, letting my eyes close. I felt the corners of his mouth go up.

I had known for a while that I loved him. Maybe I never quite found the right time, or maybe I couldn't admit it out loud in words for fear of the unknown. None of it mattered anymore.

He kissed my cheek. "I love you," he murmured with a raspy edge, nuzzling into the crook of my neck.

I had no knowledge then of the moment's gravity, a most paramount time. If we'd chosen any later it would have felt too situational, like an untruth, a bandaid. I was still in subconscious denial of the simple fact that he was, for lack of more accurate term, famous. It was still just me and Timothée. He was a safe place. He was becoming home.

I wanted to remember all of that night forever. That night, it was just us. That night, I was still clueless, in denial, unbeknownst of the rift awaiting.

******

a/n: i knew this chapter would be difficult to write as soon as i conceptualized it a few weeks ago. it's an important one. i'm nearly asleep and breaking my brain for more synonyms and metaphors and devices. might come back to edit later on due to my perfectionism, but here you go now. also i promise you won't be too angry with me. xoxo -f