Chapter Text
New York, August 2019.
New York can be a concrete jungle, but it also has little hidden places, which can transport you to the most different places on earth and its streets, if only you´re willing to listen, can tell you the most intriguing, funny and emotional stories. New York is a place of polarity, filled with life, love, laughter and…
Where am I going with this? The question pops up immediately on Timothée´s mind as he stops typing, his fingers hovering on top of the keyboard while his green eyes, confused and tired, stare at the screen of his laptop. He´s been sitting there for about an hour, drinking mug after mug of coffee and typing non stop, only to erase everything seconds after it.
With a sigh, he slopes back on the chair, fingers tapping on the wooden desk as his eyes wander around the small coffee shop. He became a loyal customer of La Cafeteria about a year ago, when in a rainy afternoon he secluded himself inside the place for a couple of minutes. The delicious variety of coffee, paired with the most incredible sandwiches and croissants, quickly made the place the perfect spot for Timothée to sit down and write. Sadly, the last couple of weeks have been so unproductive, that not even La Cafeteria could help Timothée with his writer´s block.
He scratches his neck, bites his lip and checks his phone. It´s time to go back to his actual job, the one who actually does pay his bills, sit down on a desk and try to write another piece that would excite the masses. Or at least the loyal group of people that follows the magazine. He closes his laptop, shoves it inside his backpack and swings it over his shoulder while getting up. He waves at one of the baristas on his way out, stops by the door, inhales deeply and only then steps out.
Timothée marches down the street like a man on a mission, his curls bouncing around with every step he takes and the sweat starting to creep up as the afternoon heat gets more intense. Luckily for him, it only takes five minutes to get to his destination, the incredibly beautiful and modern building where Cultural Affair has its quarters. He walks inside, a sigh of relief escaping him as the cool air hits him, and makes it straight to the elevator, his foot tapping on the floor as he waits to get to the twelfth floor.
The elevator chimes, the doors open and as Timothée steps out, he is welcomed by a black woman in her late twenties. Her afro hair is pulled up and tied with a beautiful and colorful headscarf, her lips sporting a bright red lipstick and her outfit, a perfect mix of someone who´s edgy, but also doesn´t give much of a fuck about anything. Timothée finds that slightly amusing, because he knows -better than anyone- that Zoe actually does care a lot about everything. Maybe even too much.
"I´m glad you decided to join us, Chalamet."
"Things seem pretty chill around here, so maybe I should have stayed where I was."
Timothée winks, but all he gets in return is one of Zoe´s classic unfazed smiles and a little push in the direction of his desk. He sighs, knowing she means business and resorts to silence until he is sitting comfortably in his chair, his legs up and his arms crossed as he stares at his friend -and editor- with a cocked eyebrow.
"What´s up?"
"I´ve found the perfect piece for you."
"You have?" He asks a bit incredulous as she nods eagerly, pushing his feet off of the desk so she can sit on it. "And what is it?"
Instead of saying anything, Zoe simply slides a small folder over to him, the smile on her face now much brighter than the previous one. Timothée frowns, reaches for the folder and takes a quick glance at it, seeing nothing more than a couple of photographs, brief headlines and contact numbers.
"What am I supposed to do with this?"
"This guy has just become the new It Photographer on the internet. He gains thousands of followers each day, he is super talented and, of course, super hot."
"And?"
"And I want us to be the first ones to actually get deep with him, talk about his life, his career, what are his plans for the future and his inspiration."
"Basically, you want a profile on this guy."
"Exactly," she grins. "And I was sitting at my office, thinking who would be the perfect person for the job and, honestly, your name is all I could think of."
"You want me to do a profile on a little Instagram photographer? Zoe, I´m better than that."
"Now you´re just being nasty, this guy is actually good, he simply uses Instagram as a way to promote his art."
"Everyone became an artist since Instagram came around."
"C´mon, Timothée, I think this could actually be a great piece for the magazine."
Timothée looks down at the sheet of paper once more, then back at his friend, who´s looking down at him with hopeful eyes.
"Can I think about it?"
"Of course, but I´d appreciate if you gave me an answer by tomorrow at five."
"I´ll do it."
"Great," she hops off of the desk. "Take the folder with you, there you´ll have some brief information on him, but you can make your own research and then tell me if you think this is worthy or not."
"Okay."
"I need to get back to work now. Also, I believe you have a little piece to finish, don´t you?"
"It´s almost done and it will be on your desk by the end of the day, no need to worry."
"That´s why you´re my favorite," she whispers while Timothée chuckles.
As Zoe walks back to her office, Timothée swirls around on his chair and starts off the computer, the folder on the Instagram photographer, as he had already labeled the guy, tossed to the side.
When Timothée left his mother´s home at eighteen, it took him a while to get used to his new life style. Sure, a big part of that was the fact his college roommate was a complete idiot, who could barely hold a conversation with him for longer than five minutes, which made living together for four years an insufferable task. But he also feared he wouldn´t be able to hold himself together after his mother had sugar coated him too much throughout life, and in the end he would run back to her and cry for help.
Of course, in the end everything turned out to be the complete opposite of what he expected. Despite his horrible roommate, college turned out to be excellent and a great place for him to discover more about him; and once he was out of there and looking for a place of his own to live, the tiny little nineteen century building in Brooklyn seemed like the perfect place. The fact it was only fifteen minutes away from work did make the place pretty perfect for Timothée, who cherished every single second he spent on his little corner of the world.
His apartment´s windows overlooked one of the most busy streets of Brooklyn and although the place wasn´t big, it had enough space for everything he needed. Under the two large windows, he had a long wooden bench, with cozy and comfortable cushions; the living room was simple, just a large white couch, a coffee table and two arm chairs; on one of the walls, which had black and white graphics, shelves filled with an incredible variety of books and the kitchen, which was extremely small compared to the one he grew up in, had only the essential to make a good meal.
His bedroom, his private oasis in the middle of the chaos of the city, barely had anything. White walls, a king size bed, a desk for him to work on and a little clothing rack where he put on his clothes. After his college experience, Timothée realized he didn´t need much space, nor much furniture.
Inside the bathroom, he looks at himself in the mirror, his wet hair falling down his forehead and the freckles on his nose a little more highlighted than usual. He pushes his hair back, ties the towel around his waist and walks out of the bathroom, throwing himself on the bed seconds later. With his eyes closed, arms and legs stretched out, Timothée lets his mind run wild; he has so many ideas flowing inside his head, if he only could actually bring himself to write any of them.
It´s been nearly four months since he decided he would actually follow his dream, sit down and write something on his own. In the beginning it seemed like things were moving forward, but as the weeks went by, everything he wrote sounded like total crap and he end up deleting most of the things he did. By now, he could barely write a phrase without feeling like a failure.
The doorbell brings him back and he sighs, pushing himself up from the bed and dragging himself around the apartment. He doesn´t bother putting any clothes before he opens the door, a hand on his hip as he looks at his best friend, and former lover, standing right in front of him.
"You´re still looking like this?"
Chris shakes his head, walks past Timothée and grabs a book on his way to the living room, where he throws himself on the couch. Christopher Adam Blake, was one of the first people Timothée met in university and after a few weeks, the two of them had already started a brief but quite intense relationship. It was quite clear for them though, and truthfully to everyone else around them, that they were better off as friends.
And for the past six years, that´s exactly what they were. Throughout his many failed relationships, heartbreaks and disappointments, Timothée always knew he could count on Chris to be there for him, just like he was there for him whenever he needed. Most people didn´t even want to see their exes faces after a break up, but Timothée was happy he managed to become good friends with his.
"Do you plan on getting dressed or not? We´re supposed to leave at eight."
"Which means I have plenty of time."
"Have you checked the time? You got ten minutes, lazy ass."
"What?"
"Yep, you got ten minutes until Zoe stops by and you know damn well she won´t be waiting for you."
Timothée groans, dragging himself back to the bedroom as Chris chuckles from the couch, opening the book he had in his hands. He stands in front of the clothing rack, his fingers going through all the clothes there as he tries to decide what to wear. He bites his lip, reaches for a pair of skinny jeans and a black shirt and quickly puts them on, his eyes scanning the room in search of his black boots.
He rushes around the bedroom, stopping in front of the mirror every two seconds to check on himself, make sure he looks presentable. Just as he finishes fixing his hair, he hears a honk and his phone ringing, which can only indicate one thing.
"She´s here, lazy ass, hurry up."
"I´m ready, no need to rush me," he whines while reaching for his wallet and rushing out of the bedroom. He takes his keys, takes one quick look around the apartment and then gestures for Chris to get up. He locks everything behind him and they both rush down the stairs, reaching the ground floor in less than three minutes.
By the time they get to Zoe´s car, she´s already looking annoyed, her curly hair now styled with some side braids. She takes a drag of her joint, opens the door and watches as they get in, handing the joint to Timothée.
"I have faith that one day I´ll get here and you´ll already be waiting for me."
"I highly doubt that will ever happen, my friend," Chris says while leaning back on the back seat. "Mr. Lazy Ass can never get ready on time."
"It´s eight, just like we planned, I don´t know why you two are so stressed out about this." He rolls his eyes, handing the joint to Chris. "Besides, the club opens at eight thirty, we´ll be there early, like three old ladies."
"Did you just call me old lady?"
"Maybe."
"You´re lucky you´re one of my best writers, otherwise I would kick you out of the car right now, Timothée."
"I´d like to see you try." Zoe shoots him a look and he smirks, playfully pinching her cheek while she tries to slap his hand away. He laughs, places his feet up on the dash and leans back as she starts the car, driving off down the street.
The lights flick from purple to blue and then yellow, illuminating people´s faces and creating patterns and shapes all over the walls. The club is small, a little door behind a barber shop right in the most agitated area of Brooklyn, but it attracts people from all over New York almost every single night. The music is good, the drinks even better and ninety percent of the time, people just want to have a good time and hang out with their friends.
On the crowded bar, at least five bartenders move around each other, flipping bottles, setting things on fire and flirting with every girl that dares to approach them. Squeezing himself through the sea of people, Timothée slowly makes his way over, leaning against the wooden counter until someone finally comes his way.
"Two Coronas and one Tequila Sunrise, please."
The man nods his way, scans his little wristband and walks away without even saying a word, something which Timothée has learned to ignore, even if it still does infuriates him. He turns around, elbows leaned against the counter as he watches the people dancing. Until about a minute ago, he was the one in the middle of the dance floor, dancing along with his friends; now he´s tired, his throat is completely dry and he´s sweating like a madman.
He sighs, turns back around and leans forward on the counter, waving his hand around in a failed attempt of getting one of the bartender´s attention. He loves going out, but the constant struggle to get a drink in a bar sometimes does seem like too much.
"If a pretty guy like you can´t get their attention, we´re all doomed."
Timothée looks over his shoulder, a little smirk on his face as he recognizes the guy from the dancing floor. He was watching him for a while, even dared to come close and dance around him, an intense and quite inviting look in his eyes. He takes a better look at him, paying attention to every single detail now he can actually see him. He´s tall, handsome, has dark brown hair, black eyes and a little bit of stubble, which is always a plus side when it comes to Timothée.
"That´s because they´re all straight," he says with a shrug. "So only the women get the attention...and the free drinks."
"People still hand out free drinks?"
"Not everyone, just horny bartenders wanting to get laid."
"Clearly, I´ve chosen the wrong job."
"We all have."
They smile at each other, Timothée´s green eyes wandering through the stranger´s face, reading his expression. He smirks when the guy leans closer, his hand gently brushing against his. As he goes to talk though, Timothée sees from the corner of his eyes as the bartender approaches them, sliding his drinks down the counter.
"Two Coronas and one Tequila Sunrise."
"Thank you."
"You´re gonna drink that all by yourself," the guy teases as Timothée chuckles.
"My friends are over there," he gestures towards the little VIP area where Zoe and Chris are sitting. "But hopefully I´ll see you around."
"Definitely."
Timothée nods, a smile on his face as he turns on his heels and heads back to his friends, careful not to spill any of the drinks. He places the drinks down, taking a sip of his Corona while he slides down the booth, arms resting on the back of the red velvet sofa.
"Okay, this is the guy," Zoe says handing Chris her phone.
"Holy shit, he´s gorgeous."
"Who?"
Timothée doesn´t even wait for an answer, he leans closer to Chris immediately, snatching the phone away from him. He cocks an eyebrow, staring down at the man in the photo with some interest; his deep blue eyes and the wide smile on his face do look quite good, Timothée has to admit.
"Who´s this?" He asks while Chris takes the phone back in his hands.
"That is the guy you refuse to meet with."
"What are you talking about?"
"This is the photographer I talked about earlier today."
"Oh," he mumbles. "That´s him?"
"Yeah, that´s him."
"What´s your beef with the guy?"
"I have no beef with him."
"You´re just being a judgmental little bitch."
"Okay, that´s not fair, Zoe. I have nothing against the guy, but I don´t think he is exactly what our magazine needs."
"Our magazine needs good pieces about people who are interesting, people that will attract others and right now he is attracting a lot of buzz."
"And I´m fairly sure is because he looks like that," he says with a shrug. "I´m just saying, I´m not sure a piece about a random photographer is what people who read our magazine is looking for. Or maybe they are and I´m just not the right person for the job."
"And I disagree," Zoe says while clicking through her phone. She hands it to Timothée, showing an instagram filled with pictures and smiles. "These are some of his photos, he´s actually really good and I think this piece could be great for you, for him and specially for the magazine."
Timothée sighs, eyes wandering from Zoe to Chris. "I haven´t even given my answer yet, I don´t know why you guys are so pressed about this."
"I´ve been your friend for over five years, Timothée. From the minute you told me you´d think about it, I knew you´d say no."
"Then why did you even give me a deadline?"
"Because I am stupid enough to still have hope."
"Look, I´m not part of the magazine and all I know about this guy is that he´s quite hot, but I think you should give it a try, Tim. What´s the worst that could happen? You figure out that he´s not only a wannabe, but that he actually does have talent and something inside his head?"
"He has a point."
"Fine. I´m not saying I´m gonna do it, but I promise you I´ll give this some thought."
"For real this time?"
"For real."
"Thank you," Zoe smiles, reaching for Timothée´s hand as he rolls his eyes. "You´re the best."
"I´ll remember those words when you say no to a raise in my paycheck."
Zoe opens her mouth to speak, but stops the moment one of the bartenders stops by their table and sets down three shots of Tequila. They all stare at each other, confused looks on their faces as the man leans closer.
"The tall guy at the far end of the bar asked me to bring these for you guys. Hope you enjoy it."
The three of them turn to the bar immediately, a cheeky grin appearing on Timothée´s face as the stranger from earlier raises his own shot. Zoe and Chris turn back to Timothée, eyebrows arched as he chuckles, raising his glass and drinking it all in one go.
"Guess I found my ride home, guys."
Timothée closes the door behind him and leans against it, a sigh escaping him as he closes his eyes. He is tired, his body slightly sore from his recent activities and his head is starting to pound in a mix of too much alcohol and not enough sleep. He groans, pushes himself off of the door and drags himself to the kitchen, pouring himself a tall glass of ice cold water.
He takes a few sips of it as he makes it to the bedroom, sitting on the edge of his bed as he stares into space. All he wants is to lie down and go to sleep, but he promised Zoe he would at least do some minimal research on the Instagram Photographer, and since he wouldn´t have time to do so in the morning, he knows he should just get it over with.
He places the glass down on the nightstand, kicks his boots to the side and lazily takes off his jeans and shirt, tossing them to the side before climbing into bed with his laptop on his hand. While he waits for it to turn it on, he goes through his phone, checking the message Zoe sent with the name and instagram handle of the guy, followed by a set of praying hands emoji, which he can only assume means she is praying to all known Gods that he accepts the offer.
<timothee> u r not religious
<zoewithnoy> i will be if it means getting u to agree with this
<timothee> dont get too excited
i only said i would think about it
She sends him the middle finger and Timothée chuckles, tossing the phone to the side so he can type the guy´s name on his Google Search. It doesn´t take long for a list of things to pop up; Facebook, Twitter, Pinterest, Instagram and a website, which Timothée chooses as his best option.
It´s a simple, but quite pretty website, mostly black and white, but with some hints of red here and there. He scrolls through the page, not much content, but enough to give someone a glimpse of him and his work, which is exactly what Timothée is in need at the moment. He clicks on the bio, reads the two paragraphs and can´t help but chuckle. The man clearly didn´t know what to write about himself, but he has to admit it´s kind of amusing to read it, mainly because it makes him look very normal.
He goes through a couple of photos, a little confused as he sees weddings, birthday parties and nature all mixed up together, but overall he has to admit everything he sees does look quite stunning. Maybe the guy does have some talent after all and it isn´t just after the instant gratification of social media.
He changes tabs, types his instagram handle and checks the photos there, which seem to be all new and even better than the ones on the website. The contrast of colors in some of them catch Timothée´s attention and he finds himself scrolling through pages and pages of photos. By the time his eyes are already heavy and begging for mercy, he clicks on the link on the instagram bio that directs him to the guy´s personal page, where some selfies mingle with pictures of a park, the view from a large window and dozens of pictures of a dog.
Timothée clicks on one of the selfies, watching it fill the screen. He bites his lip, eyes wandering through every little detail in the man´s face. His eyes are deep blue, that he had already noticed when he saw the photo Zoe showed them at the bar, but in this one he could see his smile and it was one of those smiles that seem to be contagious. He really is a handsome guy.
Timothée stands in line at La Cafeteria, his foot tapping on the floor as he stares out of the window, imagining he is lounging by the pool, sunglasses on and a drink on his hand. As his name is called, he snaps out of his thoughts and smiles gently to the barista, who hands him his order. He nods at her, takes a few sips of his iced coffee and rushes out of the coffee shop to the nearly scorching Sun.
It´s not even nine in the morning and the heat is already unbearable, although if he is being honest, he had about four hours of sleep, so he doubts any type of weather would be pleasant for him. He rushes down the streets, eyes attentive to everyone around him, hearing bits and pieces of conversation he would love to know more about, and some that he wishes he didn´t even hear.
As he opens the door to the building, a cool breeze hits him and he smiles, mentalling thanking whoever was responsible for the invention of the air conditioner. He probably wouldn´t be able to survive the summer without one. By the time he makes it to the elevator, he has drank most of his coffee and for a second debates on keeping the other one to himself, but before he can even think of taking a sip, the doors open and Zoe, as usual, is already waiting for him.
"One of these days, it won´t be me on the elevator and you´ll be so disappointed."
"I can sense when you´re around, Chalamet," she says while taking the cup away from him. "Thanks for my coffee."
"No problem."
"Come to my office, will ya? We need to talk."
"I just got here, I haven´t done anything, I swear."
"I just wanna talk about your raise, silly." As he arches an eyebrow, Zoe chuckles, pushing him inside the office. "I´m joking, no one´s getting a raise here any time soon."
"That´s the boost of confidence I needed to sit down and work really hard."
Zoe shrugs and sits on the desk, her arms and legs crossed. "So, do you have an answer?"
"I thought my deadline was five in the afternoon."
"It was, but I´m scared of missing this opportunity, so I´m gonna need you to give me an answer right now."
"Why are you so interested in this guy´s story?"
"Timothée, other magazines and blogs have talked about him, but no one has actually managed to get real and deep about him. Imagine when all his followers read this profile and by doing so fall in love with our magazine. This profile can be a great opportunity for you, for him and for Cultural Affair."
Timothée scratches his forehead, eyes locked on Zoe, who eagerly waits for an answer. "Fine, I´ll work on his profile."
"You are the best." She squeals while running to hug him, nearly suffocating him in between her arms. "Thank you so much for doing this, Tim."
"I just hope it turns out as you expect."
"It will," she reaches for a small business card on her table, hands it to Timothée and smiles wide. "This is all the information you need to contact him. Send him an email, call him, text him, I don´t care, just make sure you set up a meeting and discuss how this will happen."
"But you´ve talked to him before, right? He knows what´s your idea, right?"
"Yes, we exchanged a couple of emails and I explained the situation, but it was briefly. I told him once we had someone for the job, we would get in touch to make sure everything was organized as it best suited both parts."
"Okay then," he says while looking down at the card. "Time to get this over with."