Present Day
West Village Manhattan, New York
"Tell me about Timothée Chalamet then?" The interviewer asked as I looked out the window. Even after all these years he still made me feel like he always had, even just by the mention of his name.
"I don't know what kind of question that is, what do you want to know?" I pulled my jumper tighter around me.
"The first time the two of you were seen was four years ago in Paris. You have never commented on those photos or the fact that you have been seen at various times throughout the years up until six months ago, leaving fans wondering - what happened?"
"Nothing happened." That wasn't exactly true. But then how would I even be able to explain it at this point?
"We're friends, he has always been someone I respect and admire-"
"And love?" The interviewer interrupted. The word caused memories to start flying in my head, I went over to the kitchen and picked a tangerine.
I closed my eyes.
I remembered what his lips felt like, and how I knew by now I would never be able to read his mind.
I thought back to the last time I saw him. I sighed and met eyes with the interviewer.
"Of course I love him ... I always have."
Now he started writing.
Later, that night I sat by the window watching rain blur the lights on the glass. It reminded me of him and our first month together.
It was Autumn and we were in Paris and the rain didn't stop for three weeks.
Lazy mornings in his bed. How his lips always tasted better with rain water.
How he always sneaked that little card in my bag, or write notes and leave them in my pockets.
How he made my heart beat so fast, how his fingertips felt rough and how every breath with him seemed to feel like my last.
Every time I looked into those eyes I felt like I had from the start, like we both knew he'd always win.
It bought me back to the beginning, and that's where I'll take you.
Playlist:
1. video games - lana del rey
2. 505 - arctic monkeys
3. ribs - lorde