Timothèe Chalamet Imagines

❖nightmare❖

Your POV

He's coming towards me. My father is sprinting at me with a belt. I try to run away, but I realize that we're in a huge box. There's no where to run. Just before he reaches me, my eyes snap open.

I grasp around for a moment trying to figure out where I am.

It was a dream. It was a dream. I'm in my bedroom. My father can't get me here.

"Y/N. Y/N. It's okay. You're okay."

Someone is hovering over me. It's Timothèe. I gasp for air as he places his cool hand against my cheek.

"Timothèe..." I pant.

"It's me. It's okay. It was just a bad dream, that's all," he says reassuringly, rubbing his thumb across my cheekbone. I feel hot tears start to stream from my eyes. I can't stop them.

"No... No don't cry. It's okay. You're safe with me," he says, shifting his arm around my back and pulling my upright into a hug. I sob into his shoulder. I can still see my father running towards me. It felt so real.

I continue to weep against him, letting him hold me for a while before drawing back and leaning against the headboard.

"I'm sorry I woke you," I say. My voice sounds strained.

"No, no don't be sorry," he says, shaking his head in the darkness.

"It was the same one I usually have," I tell him. It's not the first time this has happened, or the second, or even the third. I have vivid, terrifying nightmares about my past at least four or five times a month, and they're only getting worse.

I can see the concern etched on his face through the dark.

"I'm fine... really," I try to assure him. He doesn't buy it, but he nods. He's been pushing for me to get help about this, to talk to someone who can tell me how to better cope with my trauma. I just don't want to. I don't want to admit that something is wrong at all.

I sink back down to the bed and lay down. My heartbeat has finally slowed back down to an almost normal speed. He crawls under the covers next to me, and I turn to face him. He tightly wraps his arms around my torso, pulling me securely against him. My head is pressed against his chest so that I can hear his heartbeat through his sweatshirt. I inhale the smell of rosewater and his cologne on him as he runs his long fingers through my hair.

"I love you. You're safe," he says. With those words, I slowly drift back to sleep, knowing that it will be dreamless as long as I am curled against him.