Exile: So Many Signs
Pairing: Timothée Chalamet x Reader
Genre: Angst, Slice of Life
Rating: PG15
Word Count: 1.8K
Warnings: Swearing!
Summary: A summer BBQ, a famed actor, and the beginning of a relationship that would change the course of their lives... Let's go back to the beginning to see where it all began.
Note: HAPPY FIRST ANNIVERSARY EXILE!!!! This, and all of folklore, are my babies. I love them all so much, but this was the first fic I put out. I love it deeply, and your words regarding this series have carried me through into many more.
So, surprise! On it’s 1st anniversary, here is a little anniversary story. It is canon and does take place before any of Exile.
Exile Master List
Amanda was having a party. That was the extent of the invite, no location, no time, nothing that would give her any indication of where and when she had to show up. Amanda was having a party and she was supposed to attend. She called and texted, neither Xander, or Stefie or Kate knew what the party was about or for but could recite the list of items Amanda needed them to bring:
Dessert – any kind Rosé BBQ sauce Ketchup Ice
She was annoyed but understood the necessity for ice in Manhattan. Every party needed ice, and it was so much better to ask your closest friends to bring quantities than to supply it yourself. Amanda had two large coolers she’d stolen from two guys in college, ones she’d painted for them but when they hadn’t paid her, or slept with her, or taken her on their frat’s formal weekend, kept for herself. It was the least her friends could do, at least that’s what Amanda argued, to fill up each cooler with ice and erase any memory of those horrible boys.
It was sweltering as she made her way to Amanda’s apartment, carrying her ice and package of mini-assorted cookies from the bakery around the block from her apartment. She was early, well earlier than she was planning to be. It hadn’t taken nearly as long to grab cookies on a Thursday evening than she anticipated, and the bodega shockingly had full bags of ice. She took the elevator up the five flights to Amanda’s roof top, where Xander had told her to arrive.
“Bitch – put it in the cooler!” Stefie called. She was perched on a chair, drinking what she assumed to be a vodka soda, dangling her feet in the cool water of the pool. It wasn’t big, you couldn’t swim laps, but it was more than enough for a group of relative strangers to flirt, cast longing glances across the unheated water, and drunkenly attempt to play chicken in (it never worked).
“Okay!” She said.
Amanda looked relieved, a tell-tale sign that Stefie, Kate and Xander weren’t nearly as helpful as she needed them to be. “Oh, thank god – what did you bring?”
“I brought ice and cookies!”
“Perfect, some people ignored the list.”
“It was a fucking long week, and you asked for a thousand things!” Kate huffed, stomping around the roof. She was in charge of cleaning up the rooftop, making sure the trash from the other tenants was gone, wiping down surfaces where people might sit or lean against. Kate didn’t want anyone’s white shorts to be ruined.
“How many people are coming?” She asked.
“A lot, hence, the supplies,” Amanda did her best Vanna White, hand gesturing to the table of food. Everything was organized in order of importance, plates and napkins, then cutlery, food beginning with small bites leading to burgers and hotdogs. Various drink stations were around the roof top, signs of what was meant to go where. She had a strict BYOB policy, with list of what beverages were appropriate for such a soiree. This time it was anything related to Rosé, sparkling or classic, Prosecco or if you were feeling fancy, champagne.
“Look if we really run low, I will run to the bodega to get them, okay?” She suggested.
“Great!” Kate smiled. “As long as I don’t fucking have to.”
“Same,” Xander agreed. He was tending the grill, slowly turning the hot dogs and flipping the burger patties.
“Why is Xander on the grill? He burns everything,” Stefie whined.
“Do you know how to grill?” Xander barked.
“Fuck off, it’s not like it’s hard.”
“Can we not fight?”
“Why are you having this party? And where’s Ben?”
“Ben will be here soon. It’s just a summer party, okay?” Amanda’s tone alluded that she didn’t need any judgment from them. “I drunkenly promised –
“Here we go,” Stefie laughed.
“This is making so much more sense now,” She agreed. “A drunken promise, how all great Amanda stories begin.”
“Anyway, I drunkenly promised and today was proposed, which I agreed to.” Amanda shrugged. “A lot of people have been invited and are coming.”
“Famous?” Xander asked.
“Maybe,” Amanda refused to use her power to get celebrities to show up to her parties, but sometimes she could and would. Always without warning or expectation, they’d sneak in and act like they knew everyone when really, they were trying to mask their isolation with friendliness. She’d bumped into a couple of them, unimpressed or not particularly starstruck, and assumed tonight would be no different.
The party really got going around 8PM, when everyone had eaten their share of salads and burgers and treats, her cookies completely gone. The alcohol was flowing, and everyone was perfectly buzzed if not teetering on the brink of drunk. It was exactly what she needed, a glorious summer evening, the sky a thousand shades of pastel, all mixed together as the sun began setting. A gentle breeze, a beautifully lowering temp, perfection in an evening.
“There’s someone I want you to meet!” Amanda grabbed her hand, pulling her through the crowd of people to the pool. Amanda hopped in, bikini exposing all her best assets, as Amanda referred to them. She had heard whisperings, murmurs that a hot young actor had made an appearance, jeans, t-shirt, baseball cap, wild curls… she hadn’t believed it because why would she? She had no reason to until – she saw him.
His silver chain glinted in the light, black t-shirt tucked into his jeans, cap turned around. Wasn’t he too old to be dressing like a frat star? He slipped his shirt off, jeans giving way to boxers before he too joined Amanda in the pool.
“Timmy, this is my best friend.” Amanda let them exchange names and pleasantries before disappearing to find Ben who had arrived and had finished what was left of the beer.
She caved, slipping her summer outfit off, and sitting on the edge of the pool, legs submerged, torso dry.
“How long have you two been friends?” He leaned against the wall of the pool, eyes watching her as his dripping curls trailed water down his spine.
She stared at him – was this being starstruck? “College. You?”
“She works, for me I guess?” Timothée shrugged. “She’s always been really cool.”
“Yeah, she has been. She very much embodies that stereotypical blond, white, California Surfer Girl, with the exception that she’s Chinese and can’t swim.”
He had laughed, the first laugh she’d ever heard from him in person. It was glorious. His smile stunning, prettier than any Getty Image. This was definitely being starstruck, all of the atoms and molecules in her body bubbling at his presence.
“Yeah, that’s fair. She’s chill as fuck.”
“A trait I wish I had or could borrow,” She hummed, legs still swinging, rosé in her hand and eyes watching him. The water, accumulated in droplets, clung to his skin, the setting sun doing very little to dry them from his flesh.
“Oh yeah? You a little tightly wound?” He cocked a grin, enjoying her preying gaze.
“Yeah, anal is my middle name and least favorite sex position,” She laughed, watching as he choked on his booze, spluttering over her comment. “No, I can be chill. Like tonight, totally chill. Tipsy, absolutely, but chill.”
“I don’t know if I believe you,” He smiled again, stepping a little closer, his skin barely touching that of her thigh, the heat between them dulling the wetness of the pool. “What do you do?”
“I’m a graphic designer at a mid-sized firm.”
“Peggy must be your –
“Hero?” She interjected. “Honestly, I prefer Joan in every sense. Her work ethic, her ability to know everything about the goings on in her office, everything she accomplishes while also dealing with sexism, condescending partners, and the demeaning way men engage with her. She fights so many stereotypes of women at the time. The fact that she bagged John Slattery is just a benefit. She’s an icon.”
He didn’t miss a beat, going in for a cheeky comment and a head nod. “You’re smart, yeah?”
She laughed. “Is it obvious?”
“Yeah, little bit.”
Timothée took the half step necessary for their flesh to be touching, and didn’t search her eyes for confirmation that she too had hoped he would make the miniscule move. He gazed out at the cityscape, admiring the light reflecting off the buildings, the gentle hum of activity from below and the laughter of the strangers around them. He took a beat before glancing through his eyelashes to stare at her. He felt it, the buzz of electricity between them – he had half a mind too joke they were going to get electrocuted but thought better of the bad joke.
“Does that scare you?” She laughed again, the sparkling rosé bouncing around her veins. She was beginning to feel, invincible. If he was intimidated, it wouldn’t bother her – that was his cross to bear, not hers. She could handle herself.
“No, no, I like it,” He reassured. “I didn’t go to college so, sometimes that’s a deal breaker for people.”
“College doesn’t always equate intelligence.”
“That is true.”
“I’ve never been nominated for an Oscar,” She argued.
“What’s stopping you?”
“Talent.”
He tilted his head back, laughter drifting out into the city. “I’m sure you’ve got it.”
“That kind of faith in me is unwarranted. You hardly know me.”
“I’d like to get to know you, if you’re up for it.” His eyes locked with hers, two pairs of chestnut orbs gazing into each other. Was this the start of something?
“Like a date, or new friendship?” She asked.
“A date,” Timothée assured her, confirming that it was more than alcohol tethering them together.
She looked at him, his narrow shoulders and faint waste, gum being chewed between his back molars and a slight shadow he hadn’t shaved. He wasn’t so intimidating, accolades and acknowledgments aside. He was just, a man… maybe still a boy, asking her out.
“You want to go on a date with me?” She repeated herself, committing that very moment to memory.
“Yeah, I’d like to. You don’t believe me?”
“No, I do, I just, I don’t know, this feels like, something?”
Timothée nodded, he felt it the moment he saw her. This was the first sign – this was fated, this was going to mean something to both of them, shaping their lives in an irrevocable manner. It could be a tawdry fling or last their lifetimes, they could ghost after one date and not harbor ill will or be devastated after months of trying to see each other. The possibilities were infinite…. In this finite moment in time, Timothée didn’t know which it would be.
“Yeah, I think so.”
You nodded your head. What Timothée didn’t realize in that first moment, that first agreement to see where this chemistry could lead you, is that much like him, you were never one to ignore signs.