Y/N

_

AFTER LAST NIGHT, everything seemed a little better.

Maybe not a little better, but a lot. The next morning I woke up with a surprising pep in my step, and I felt motivated to actually brush my hair before entering the kitchen.

Timothée and I stayed up late finishing my Netflix show, and as a result, he was still sleeping when I left for work. I usually didn't listen to music on my way to Rosco, but I was in the mood for some backtracking as I walked down the street. The smile on my face was undeniable as I sang along to Mr. Blue Sky, by the Electric Light Orchestra.

"Good morning Mrs. Rosco," I smiled, skipping into the conference room.

She stared at me with confusion, squinting her eyes. I didn't realize my usual attitude walking into work on a Tuesday morning was always less than happy.

"What happened to you?" the woman asked, watching as I sat down in my chair.

"I just woke up feeling a lot better," I shrugged.

"I hope that means more productive as well," she sighed, slapping a stack of papers in front of me, "we have a lot to discuss."

That was almost mood crushing, but I didn't let it get to me. Separating the files, I flipped through them briefly.

"What is this?" I questioned.

"A new movie deal."

"Great, did we already send out the notices to our actors?"

She shook her head, "we need new talent."

"We do?"

She placed her fingers on the table, leaning towards me with intimidation. Anytime she made direct eye contact with me, I knew it was serious.

"This movie can make or break this company," she explained, "if we give them the right actor, we're set for the rest of the year."

"Who do we have in mind?"

"That's what you need to find out," Adriana snapped, pushing another thing towards me, "read that by tomorrow night."

I looked down to see a small paperback book laying crookedly on the table. I guessed she wanted me to read it, and then do a talent search for actors to play the characters.

"What are you waiting for?" The woman exclaimed, pointing towards the door, "go!"

Grabbing my things, and the book, I hurried out of the office and out of the building.

_

"I'm like you," he said. "I remember everything."

My fingers grazed against the pages, my eyes glued to the words running across the paper. I felt entranced by the book, almost drawn in by it's sentimentality and it's attention to detail.

I was near the end of the last chapter, dreading the feeling when there would be nothing left to read. I was snuggled into the couch with my blankets and pillows, my hot chocolate mug steaming on the coffee table beside me. My heart jumped when I heard the doorknob twist open, and I saw Timothée enter the apartment.

"Hey chipmunk," he smiled, tossing his keys up and down in his hand.

His dark brown burls were soaked, along with his Kid Cudi galaxy hoodie, and his grey sweats. I didn't realize it was raining outside, since I had been cooped up for so long.

"I thought I told you not to call me chipmunk," I pouted, sticking out my lip.

"It's either that, or cherry chapstick. Take your pick."

"How about [y/n]?"

"Cute," he grinned, "but not as cute as your nicknames."

I scrunched my nose at him, turning back to my book. The sound of Timothée shuffling around the living room distracted me at first, until I felt his presence plop onto the couch next to me. His hair had semi-dried, but it was still shiny against the apartment's lighting. After yesterday night, I suddenly found myself at ease around him, and he seemed to find a little ease with me.

"Watcha' reading?" He hummed, leaning over to peek at the book cover.

I held it out towards him, and he took it, his thumb bookmarking the page I left off at.

"It's good," I nodded, "Call Me By Your Name."

"Okay, Timothée."

I laughed, "that's the title of the book, idiot."

He grinned, before his eyes began to run along the last part of the chapter. I expected him to give it back in disinterest, but instead he began to read the remaining words out loud.

"If you remember everything," he recited, occasionally glancing back at me, "I wanted to say, and if you are really like me..."

I almost got lost in the moment. Watching as his lips gracefully read the story like poetry, I felt myself drift off while listening to the sweetness of his voice. At one point in the paragraph, he moved his knee up onto the couch, grazing against the balm of my foot.

He didn't seem to notice it, and almost getting lost in the story himself, his hand unconsciously dropped to rest on my calf. I bit the inside of my lip, hoping I didn't go crazy from the feeling of his skin against mine.

"And, as you did back then," the boy whispered, his voice retreating slowly, "look me in the face, hold my gaze, and call me by your name."

Then it hit me. I shot up in my seat, my hand grabbing Timothée's wrist. He looked alarmed at first, and then even more alarmed when he realized his hand had been sitting on my leg for the past few minutes.

"Read it again," I urged, nodding towards the book, "the last line."

"Why?" he stammered.

"Just do it!"

He smiled quickly, before turning back towards the page. He began to repeat himself, the words rolling naturally off his tongue.

"Look me in the face, hold my gaze," he read, "and call me by your name."

I couldn't believe it. I couldn't believe he was sitting right in front of me, reading the book out loud as if it was written for him, and only him.

"Timothée you're perfect," I said breathily.

He looked confused, but still amused, "perfect?"

"Absolutely perfect."

"I know I am," he joked "but why do you look so happy about it?"

"Just...just wait here," I rambled, rolling off the couch and running around the living room in search of my phone.

"Wait, what's going on?" The boy said, watching me press my screen in haste.

I didn't answer, but instead shoved my phone up to my ear, waiting for someone to pick up. Tapping my foot against the ground, I began to pace in excitement, my heart about to burst out of my chest.

"This better be good," I heard Adriana say from the other end, "why are you calling me at eight pm?"

"I have good news!"

"Well, spit it out then."

"I found Elio," I exclaimed, "I found someone to play him."

"You did?"

"Yes!"

"Well who is he?"

I turned to look back at the boy, who was staring at me with wide eyes on the couch. Even just looking at him now, it was like he was born for the part.

"You'll love him," I smiled, "his name is Timothée Chalamet."

_

Used in the story were short sentences from the book CALL ME BY YOUR NAME, by André Aciman. I do not own his writing.