Timothèe Chalamet Imagines

✩drunk✩

Your POV

I bounce my knee as I check my phone for what feels like the thousandth time tonight. Still no text messages from him. It's almost 2am. The TV plays in the background with a show I've barely been watching.

I know he's probably fine, and I'm probably overreacting, but he said he'd be home by around 10, and he hasn't answered me at all. Am I clingy for being nervous? No. I'm just a good person for being nervous.

Suddenly I hear a small noise outside of the apartment door. I stand from my place on the couch and walk over to it, swinging it open without much thought, which is probably quite dangerous.

Timmy is standing in the threshold, his hand outstretched. Relief courses through me; he's alright.

"I was tryinggg to open the door," he slurs, looking down at me through his mop of messy curls. I shake my head and grin, pulling him inside.

"Timmy, I was so worried that something happened to you," I say, as he sloppily kicks off his shoes and shrugs his coat onto the floor.

"Y/N, I am soooo drunk. I mean... I am soooo drunk," he says, giggling, as he staggers over to the couch.

"No way dude, we have to get you to bed. You have a meeting tomorrow," I say, following him to the couch. He slumps face first onto it, his head turned to the side.

"I can sleep righttt here," he says. I don't think I've ever seen him this drunk before, and honestly, it's hilarious.

"No, Tim. You have to actually go to bed," I tell him, grabbing him by the wrist and attempting to pull him up. I only force him to get into our bed because I want to sleep with him by my side.

He grumbles a string of incoherent words that end with: "Fine." He leans against me when he stands, and I tuck one arm around his waist as I walk us down the hallway and into our bathroom.

"But Y/N... I want to go to sleeeeeep," he says, when I flick the light on.

"I know. But you have to brush your teeth!" I say.

"Fine," he says again. I pull out his toothbrush and toothpaste and hand it to him. He takes about thirty seconds to unscrew the cap, and completely misses getting any toothpaste actually on his toothbrush. It ends up all over the counter.

"Maybe we'll just do mouthwash for tonight and call it good," I say, holding back laughter.

"Y/N, you are so, so, soooo goooood to me," he says, flopping his head back against the wall as I clean up the toothpaste.

"I know," I say sweetly. He's so funny like this.

I hand him the mouthwash, and he drinks some before swallowing it and grimacing.

"Woahhhh. That's mintyyyy," he says.

"Tim! You're not supposed to drink it!" I say, through laughter.

"Well I did anyyyyways," he says, flashing his cute grin.

I sling my arm back around him and walk us out of the bathroom, flipping the light off.

"Y/N... I actually donnnnn't want to go to bed. Like, at all," he says, as he sits on the edge of our bed.

"Timmy, seriously. You have meetings tomorrow," I say, rummaging through our closet and pulling out a sweatshirt and some sweatpants for him.

"But Y/N... we could have a party in our apartment! Right now!" he says, throwing his hands in the air and standing up a little too quickly before stumbling and barely catching himself on the dresser.

"Timmy, oh my god. We're not throwing a party right now. We're going to bed right now. Come put these on," I say, holding his clothes out.

"Nooooo," he says, whining like a five-year-old.

"Yes!" I say, walking towards him. I start unbuttoning his white shirt.

"Ooooo, Y/N.... are we really gonna do this right now?" he says in what I'm sure he thinks is a sexy voice. I roll my eyes and shake my head as I continue to undress him and help him into fresh clothes.

We both get into our bed, Timmy almost falling over again, and I flick off the light.

"Y/N... you're soooo nice to me," he says through the darkness.

"You do the same thing for me when I'm drunk," I say, smiling at him, my face inches from his.

He moves forward to kiss me on the lips, but completely misses and catches my eye with his lips instead.

"Oooooops."

I laugh.

"You are going to hate yourself in the morning," I tell him. I reach over and run my fingers through his curls to help him fall asleep faster. He really does have an important meeting at 10am, so I hope that he's not completely dead.

"I love you," he whispers. I can see his face relax into sleep through the darkness, his perfect features slowly softening.

"I love you," I whisper back.