(You Made It Feel Like) Home - Chapter 12 - currentaffair (2024)

Chapter Text

2. California

A bird and a fish may love

But where will they build their nest?

For I only live for gold

The fame hook of happiness

And you are above it all

Silent with Reverence

For free is the man who knows that glitter is deadliness

- LDR

XII: You'll See What I Mean

Paradise is a delicate thing. Armie never quite got the allure of Los Angeles. The charm, maybe, but never the glamor. He got the vision, but it always felt like the morning after the party. Everyone's a little too late, stumbling around with a headache or a regret, leaving even later, never staying..

It was a city to chase.

They call it paradise, the place where your dreams come true. You live in them and you don’t wake up.

Armie hated thinking about the city in this… poetic way.

Anyways.

He cruised down the 405, the music in his car drowned out by the roar of the night air. Somehow warmer here, he thought. Maybe because of the fires.

Pulling up to Nick’s house, he found the place already buzzing with familiar faces—some lounging on the couch, others crowded around the kitchen bar, and a few more gathered by the door, all waiting for him.

All smiles.

"Surprise!" they chorused as he entered, the lights in the living room twinkling as Nick fiddled with the fairy lights in the background. Crafty banners hung across the room, "WELCOME HOME f*ckER" in colorful letters.

"Welcome home, dude," Ashton greeted him, enveloping him in a hug and grabbing his suitcase. "Sorry, they insisted," he whispered.

"Welcome to the first day of your life!" Paul shouted from the back, everyone cheered again.

Armie braced himself for what he assumed would be an awkward dinner, but everyone seemed to keep the banter flowing.

"So you're staying for good now?" Paul asked, his fork pausing mid-air over a plate of pasta.

Armie nodded, his eyes sparkling with contentment. "I'll still visit my family there now and then," he said, a warm smile tugging at his lips.

"Armie met a chick there," Ashton teased with a grin.

Nick shot Armie a playful look, his eyebrow raised in mock curiosity. Armie responded with a dramatic roll of his eyes, a chuckle escaping his lips.

"Yeah, if by 'chick' you mean the literal chickens in the coop at my stepmom's place," Armie replied, shaking his head. "Real riveting stuff." The room erupted in laughter, the easy camaraderie making everything feel comfortable and light.

“So, tomorrow– we're hitting the road at dawn to tackle the pool first, then it's off to scavenge for vintage treasures," Ashton explained the plan to renovate their motel in Joshua Tree.

"We’re on a mission to find the perfect vintage grill. Well, Armie is, Nick and I are just excited for the grub he's gonna whip up," he chuckled.

"I'll be the resident chef," Armie smiled.

"What is it gonna be? Airbnb on steroids?" Paul quipped.

Ashton laughed. "Dude! Yeah, that's the idea! We’ve already got the place but now it’s still boring as hell. We’re thinking like, private dining, shows, you know.. music, standups, maybe a yoga retreat," he elaborated, clearly lost in his vision.

Nick rolled his eyes. "Here we go again," he muttered.

"You've got to see the big picture, man," Ashton persisted, launching into more of his grand plans. Armie couldn't help but smile, enjoying the conversation as he took a forkful of his pasta .

Nick eventually called an end to the dinner party, citing Armie's recent return and the need for a fresh start in the morning. Armie was secretly relieved; as much as he cherished his friends and had missed them, a good night's sleep sounded heavenly. He briefly considered calling his kids again but thought better of it, not wanting to overwhelm them after their time together earlier that day.

"Hey," Nick's voice broke through Armie's thoughts as he helped washes the dishes. "Excited for tomorrow?"

"Yeah," Armie smiled, drying his hands. "Thanks for tonight.”

Nick nodded, studying Armie for a moment before enveloping him in a tight hug.

"Welcome home," Nick said, his voice filled with warmth. "I know I've said it a million times before, but seriously, we're all so damn happy for you," he added, squeezing him tightly. “ I’m so happy for you.”

Armie returned the hug, feeling a wave of gratitude wash over him. "Thank you. For everything.”

Nick pulled away. "It's only gonna get better from here. And hey, you'll remember it all this time," he added with a grin.

Armie chuckled. "Yeah, there's that.”

Time had a funny way of ticking by, not just in LA, but everywhere. It had been more than two years since Armie returned from Italy, empty-handed yet feeling like a heavy suitcase of nothing.

He could still vividly recall that day: almost broke, nothing to do, and the worst part was his kids weren't even back yet. When he turned the taxi and stumbled into his childhood home in West Hollywood, his mother was brewing herself a cup of tea. She didn't ask questions, just poured him another steaming mug and gave him a warm hug.

Sobriety worked wonders though, although not as straightforward as he had anticipated. He had naively believed that rehab would miraculously fix him, resolving all his issues in one fell swoop.

But reality proved far more complex.

Although.. now that he was sober, it became apparent that achieving control over his life during his turbulent state then was akin to attempting to lasso a thunderstorm—just damn impossible.

He needed the restart.

"Geez, I thought it'd be warm tonight," Ashton grumbled, hugging a throw blanket as they settled in the backyard of the villa.

Ashton had been the one to push Armie into joining his vacation rentals gig with Nick back during the peak of his career, as a side investment. Alas, he had been too busy then, but now, in a way, he was glad he could tend to it and took more part.

The road trip had been enjoyable; Joshua Tree was a stark contrast to everything Cayman, where Armie had spent some months there back and forth after rehab. He never turned down a chance to hit the open road with his truck, especially surrounded by nature. The physical labor of the renovation work they were doing was also satisfying. It was goal-oriented, and he relished the time spent with his friends.

"Mind if I-" Ashton started.

"f*cking hell, Ash, just drink, I don't care," he interrupted, prompting Ashton to grab a beer from the fridge with a smile.

"How's Misty?" Ashton inquired about Armie’s stepmom. Nick joined them with two co*kes. One for him, one for Armie.

"She's great. She misses you and Tyler," Armie replied, nodding a silent thanks to Nick.

"We should all go there next summer. I need to feed Nick to the f*cking sharks," Ashton joked, earning him a playful swat. "But seriously, dude. You're so hot and tan now, I bet it's hard for Nick to not drool. The Carribean sun did you well."

"-Jesus," Nick muttered.

"It's great. Harper and Ford came a couple of times too," Armie added with a smile.

"Yeah, it’s decided, Cayman boys trip. I want to be tan and hot." Ashton said, taking another sip of his drink.

"By the way, the writer from The Tide contacted me. James Kessler," he continued, his tone shifting to a more serious note. "Did you know?"

Armie nodded, taking a drag from his vape. "Yeah."

"Okay," Ashton said. "I'm just letting you know, I've spoken to him. Honestly, I'm glad he reached out. Makes me feel special," he chuckled.

"He actually contacted Nick first," Armie teased, smiling.

"So wayyy before you, actually," Nick added.

“Yeah.. wait, you’re the one telling him about Ash, too, right?” Armie grinned wider.

"Oh, f*ck off!" Ashton retorted before they both burst into laughter.

“Shut up, I bet he’ll quote me longer, trust me. I’m not an asslicker like Nick. Hey-, Hey! I’ve known you longer, alright? and I actually got the balls to say what I think about you– sorry dude– Whatever... when’s it coming out?”

"I don't know," Armie replied, still chuckling with Nick. "He wants to ask some follow-up questions. Maybe I'll invite him here actually, when the place is ready.”

“That won’t be too long?” Nick asked.

“He’s not in a rush,” Armie shrugged.

“But-”

"-Free promo! The vision is getting clearer," Ashton said, nudging Nick with his elbow. “By the way, I did tell him you’re an asshole,” he shrugged sarcastically before smirking, “A super hot and tan motherf*cking asshole.”

The next couple of days left them equally drained. They'd managed to tackle the pool, then started in on the main area; Armie and Nick demolishing walls while Ashton scoured for supplies.

Later, they slouched on the threadbare couch, watching TV with sporadic remarks breaking the silence, until Ashton's snores filled the room.

"Long day, huh?" Armie quipped, glancing at his dozing friend.

"I swear he could pass out mid-convo," Nick chuckled.

Armie smiled. Nick’s new haircut made him look like a different person: a buzzcut, mustache, stubbles. Somehow, he looked younger, which was odd. Now he favored oversized sweaters and loose sweatpants, a far cry from his previous preppy style of body-hugging printed shirts and dress pants. It was like he’d traded Wall Street chic for laid-back college vibes.

Though Armie looked different himself.

“Having fun breaking walls and sh*t?” Nick asked, his tone softer, almost tender.

Armie nodded.

“It’s f*cking harder than arms day,” he added, smirking. “Can’t believe this is what you’ve been doing all these years. You made it sound like a luxury gig,” he joked.

“No, you just binged too much Selling Sunset on your flights,” Nick shot back.

“Hmm..still don’t get why you’re not on that show,” Armie grinned.

“The audition was to type escrow documents with fake nails,” Nick said, and they both laughed.

Armie’s eyes softened as they met a pair of brown.

His fingers, almost on their own, slowly danced over Nick’s on the couch, lingering for a moment.

Their eyes met.

Then Nick smiled, before gently pulling back.

“Arm—” he began, hesitating. “I—oh, look, it's Timmy,” he said abruptly, pointing at the TV.

“Huh?”

"That’s Timmy– right? "

Armie glanced up at the TV; Jimmy Fallon sat behind his desk, and Timmy was on the couch beside him.

Timmy.

He looked different, more polished, more distant—like something carefully crafted and intricately packaged for your eyes. Very beautiful. His hair was immaculately styled, his curls bounced with newfound vitality, he had black makeup on his eyes, his clothes a perfectly curated mix of designer and grunge.

He looked radiant, more mature now.

But Armie could still trace that familiar smile.

"Yeah, that’s him," he breathed.

"Timothée Chalamet, is that really how you pronounce it?" Fallon grinned.

Timmy offered a shy nod. "Any way you wanna say it is fine, man," he chuckled, "Timothy, Timothée, Doug.." he joked.

"Perfect! Doug it is!" Fallon quipped back with an obnoxious laugh.

"So, you came out of nowhere with a bang; first a.. pretty controversial movie,” the man chuckled, titling his head for comedic relief, “and today you just dropped your full-length album!" the man mused. "The girls are crazy about you, my kids are crazy about you– how does it feel?"

Timmy smiled again, nervously scratching his head. “Eh, I don’t know, it’s just so surreal..” he said. “I’m trying to get used to it..”

“We met backstage and I’m surprised that you’re actually very shy and reserved in person, I mean, now, your songs are kinda…” Fallon began.

“slu*tty?” Timmy grinned with his big teeth.

Armie raised an eyebrow as the audience cheered, Nick chuckled beside him. Secretly he was glad that Timmy hadn’t lost his self-deprecating humor.

"You missed out on a lot while you were away," Nick commented, but Armie remained fixated on the screen.

Fallon laughed. “It’s a breath of fresh air in music to see a guy write and sing these types of songs, don’t you think? It’s vulnerable.. It’s, as you said, “slu*tty”, - I was gonna say sexy, personally,”

Timmy's smile faltered for a moment before he responded, "I think other people have done it.. like.. The Weeknd.., -he’s great,” he said, dodging the question with practiced ease.

Fallon pressed on, “Right, was he one of your inspirations when you wrote this album?”

Timmy chuckled, “Yeah, for sure,” he said, scratching his neck.

Lie.

Armie could see that simple gesture from miles away.

Fallon shifted gears. “Your viral single 'Burning Desire,' I meaaan.. top of the Billboard chart, defeating Taylor Swift! Taylor Swift! Although I have questions about those provocative lyrics, Timothée…”

Timmy pulled his lips to the side before shaking his head. “It’s a nice dancing song with fun lyrics, why not?”

“Oh, yes! Definitely dancey!” Fallon clapped. “Okay, before we let you go and do your performance, we’re gonna play a quick game. I'll read a line from your singles from the album, and you tell us what it means.”

“Sure,” Timmy smiled.

“First song,” Fallon started to read out the lyrics with a playful smirk, "I drive fast, radio blares, have to touch myself to pretend you're there. Your hands were on my hips, your name was on my lips, over, over again like my only prayer."

“That's more than a line."

Fallon chuckled, "But it sent Twitter and TikTok into madness!"

“Yeah, I like to drive my car and pray for safety,” he joked dryly. “Hey mom,” he grinned, waving to the camera. The awkwardness was palpable.

“Talented, and funny! Oh my god, he’s the best,” Fallon said to the audience as they cheered again.

Armie scoffed at that fake laugh.

“Next,” he continued, reading from the cue card. “I don’t wanna decide things for myself on my own. Finally, for the first time I’m alone. Tell me why do I feel so free when I’m dead? Oh, when I’m tied on to your short leash,” he finished with a grin, clearly enjoying Timmy's discomfort.

Timmy chuckled to himself, shaking his head a couple times.

“What’s that about, Timothée?” Fallon asked, feigning innocence.

“A song for dogs,” Timmy quipped dryly, his smile all teeth.

"And you barked up quite the storm!" Fallon remarked. “Well, thank you so much for coming to our studio today, congratulations on your album, Sex & Candy, available in music stores worldwide and all streaming platforms. Everyone, give it up for the latest American heartthrob with the most luscious curls, Timothée Chalamet!” he announced before the segment came to a close with a band blasting some generic talk show music.

Armie sat on the edge of the couch, the glow of the TV flickering across his face, casting shadows that seemed to dance with a life of their own. The living room was shrouded in semi-darkness, the only real light coming from the Joshua Tree sky sprawled out beyond the massive window—its lights like tiny, indifferent stars.

The TV turned black-and-white, the camera shifted to cabaret-style set, where Timmy, now decked out in a ludicrously large wig and a pageant dress, stood in front of a mic looking like a drag queen on a psychedelic trip. Surrounding him were shirtless men exuding a detached elegance.

The first haunting notes filled the room, slicing through the forced cheer of the stage. Timmy's voice was ethereal and haunting. Eyes closed, body swaying slightly, he seemed to be in a trance of his own making, lost in the music.

Somewhere In some other lifetime

I roam free

Timmy softly sang, moving his hips slowly, his deep eyes watching the audience, then straight to the camera as the bass came.

Just prop me with my head high

The chorus crashed in like a wrecking ball.

Dollhouse, dressed up, perfect, messed up

Torture me to sleep, paint the air I breath

Fishbowl, chokehold, clear water, I'm cold

Perfect as can be, have your way with me

With a dramatic flair, he tossed aside his wig, as if shedding the last vestiges of pretense. The television screen exploded into a riot of technicolor, mirroring the pandemonium unfolding onstage.

In a lightning-fast display of a star born, Timmy ripped off his dress, revealing the attire of a true punk provocateur: a snug black wife-beater clinging to his chest, leather pants hugging his legs like a second skin.

The music morphed from a delicate whisper to a thunderous roar, Timmy seized an electric guitar with the fervor of a man possessed. With each strum, the room pulsated with raw, unfiltered energy, the bass line throbbing like a heartbeat on the edge of frenzy.

The camera cut to the audience—rapt faces, dancing, jumping, swaying, mouthing each of the words. It was clear Timmy had them in the palm of his hand.

..Dollhouse, dressed up, perfect, messed up

Torture me to sleep, paint the air I breath

The chorus seemed to go on loops. Armie's grip on the remote tightened as he watched Timmy's sweat-soaked figure under the unforgiving stage lights, his dark makeup running down his cheeks like tears of tar.

As the song peaked, Timmy's fervor grew palpable, culminating in a dramatic gesture as he flung his head back, pushing the mic until it clattered to the floor. The crowd erupted into frenzied screams as Timmy knelt, offering himself to their adulation.

Am I playing' all right now, daddy?

Am I? Am I?

Am I playing' all right now, daddy?

The song ended, the last notes hanging in the air like a whispered secret. The audience erupted into applause, but Timmy seemed almost detached, his eyes scanning the crowd as if searching for something—or someone.

“f*cking prick,” Timmy spat as Will handed him his Celine jacket, the live show blaring on the TV; Jimmy Fallon, yukking it up with some actor Timmy barely recognized.

Will smirked, “You rocked it out there,” slumping onto the couch. Timmy's stylist swooped in to change his clothes, another woman brought more sparkling water, and a third poked her head in to announce the driver's waiting.

“I’m bouncing straight back,” Timmy announced, yanking on a blue cap. “Also, tell Angela I’m not doing anymore Fallon. f*cking humiliating.”

“We did say yes to-” Will began.

“-I'm wiped,” Timmy cut him off.

Will sighed, a flicker of empathy flickering in his eyes.

“One drink, then we'll bail,” Will suggested.

Timmy eyed him, weighing his options.

“The Johnsons will be there. Well, not all of them, but-” Will continued.

“One drink,” Timmy relented, brushing his curls before sliding on his sunglasses.

“I'm telling you, you look ridiculous with those at night,” Will needled as they snuck out the back door, Timmy waving to the screaming fans before sliding into the black SUV.

“So why even bother leaving early to LA tomorrow if we’re meeting them now?” Timmy quizzed in the car, ignoring Will’s take as he chugged his water.

"Not the mother hen, she's nesting in their dominion most of the time," Will said. “Whatever though, I already miss LA forreal,” he shrugged, snagging some candies from the car before popping one into his mouth.

“You’re just missing that girl,” Timmy teased.

“Elle?”

“Nah, the other one,” he trailed off, closing his eyes.

“Tara?” Will shot back, smirking. “Bruh.”

“Chill with that,” he laughed.

“Imma ride your fame till the wheels fall off,” Will quipped.

“By dating the whole of LA?” Timmy fired back.

“I dodge the ones you swiped on,” Will said with a grin.

“I don’t ‘swipe on’, ” Timmy shook his head. He scrolled through his phone, eyes half-closed, checking emails and messages.

“Yeah, you just smile and whip it out now,” Will chuckled. "So, what's the plan?"

"No plan," Timmy replied hoarsely, sinking deeper into his seat, watching the New York City street filled with smoke.

He brushed his curls again, the stale mix of hairspray and cigarette smoke clinging to him. His leather pants felt uncomfortable, sticking to his skin despite the cool midnight air. He idly stroked his bare neck, the absence of his Cartiers on his body leaving him feeling oddly exposed (they were borrowed specifically for public events). Too exposed now, like a mannequin stripped of its allure, waiting to be dressed up once more.

He wished he could have his old bracelets and necklaces back, as ugly as they were. They were good for fidgeting.

“But… you're fully aware of their offer, right?” Will prodded.

Timmy nonchalantly shrugged.

“Is it at least going to be the hot sister?” Will added.

He smiled, turning his gaze back to the city outside. His city. Now stranger than strangers.

Will’s nice, too nice, actually. He was a good friend and now a good assistant. No, Timmy didn’t secretly yearn for someone to shake him, to tell him his choices were foolish. To urge him to flee from it all.

"We're here," Will announced as the car came to a stop.

Timmy hadn’t seen Armie since that night in Italy.

It was ironic, borderline cruel, considering how fate seemed to constantly intertwine their paths before that.

He couldn't shake the feeling that maybe the universe had attempted its matchmaking antics, only to fail miserably, leaving behind a bitter residue of regret and the grim realization that such sublime connections were as rare as winning the lottery twice.

As for Armie, not a peep. No sign that he was as broken as Timmy. It felt absurd to be the one nursing a broken heart when he was the very architect of their romantic demolition derby, if you could even dignify it with such a grandiose label.

So, that’s when Timmy began his voyeuristic vigil. He started to catch glimpses of Armie again. Not in person, not in his former glory under the moonlight on the streets of Italy, but through the grainy pictures, the occasional articles that still whispered about him here and there. Timmy devoured whatever morsels of information he could find, his guilt churning in his stomach like a storm, yet his thirst for knowledge overpowering any semblance of morality.

Timmy knew everything (which were not much at all) about Armie that the internet could offer: the finalized divorce (of course now understanding Elijah’s remarks about Armie’s ex-wife), Armie’s new life in The Cayman Islands. If he got lucky, he’d stumble upon blurry pics of him from random people posted online, often seen together with Nick.

That Nick.

Timmy choked down his jealousy, but his voracious appetite for Armie's presence turned him into a greedy, insatiable creature. Greedy for Armie, greedy for anything to fill the void that lingered despite having everything he once believed he wanted.

"Timothée?" A voice chimed, and he glanced up, a smirk playing on his lips as he stubbed out his cigarette with all the nonchalance of a Prada-clad prince. They were perched high above the city, in a swanky penthouse, where the air buzzed with the clinking of glasses and the murmur of stupid conversation amongst Hollywood's elite.

"Hey," Timmy raised an eyebrow, striding over with Will to half of the Johnson sisters, Gwen and Laura, nestled on a plush couch alongside a bevy of familiar faces—Studio darlings Stella Lindley, Charlie Jankel, and Kim Oates (yes, John Oates’ daughter), along with top models Alex Gerber (the party's hostess), Soko Li, and singer Tatiana Small.

"We had no clue you were in NYC," Gwen said, her hair now a luscious ebony cascade, her lips slightly fuller.

"Yeah, we're dipping tomorrow," Timmy replied, glancing at Will. "Hey girls, I’m Will, nice party," Will chimed in, raising his glass in a cool salute.

"We're familiar with you, Will McGinley," Gwen smirked, sharing a knowing glance with the others. "Take a seat, guys," they gestured, diving into the kind of pretentious banter that's only heard in these kinds of penthouse parties.

"So, you're meeting my mom tomorrow," Gwen cut through the chatter, her words barely audible over the pulsating beats and lively conversations that filled the penthouse. The girls were clearly indulging in more than a few shots of tequila, evidenced by the raucous laughter and empty shot glasses littering the table.

"You're not coming?" Timmy asked, scanning the room discreetly.

"Hmm... should I?" Gwen teased, her nails tracing playful patterns on his thigh.

Timmy grinned before shaking his head. "Only if you're worried I might steal your mom instead," he joked.

Gwen chuckled, her breath warm against Timmy's neck.

"Is Elijah Coleman coming?" Gwen asked.

"I think so, if he doesn’t ghost last minute. Why do you ask?" Timmy shot back.

"Just curious," Gwen replied with a sly smile. "I've missed him. Last time we hung was at the Oscars last year, with his wifey," she reminisced. "You looked hot that night," she added in a hushed tone.

Timmy refrained from asking why Gwen scored an Oscars invite; that would be rude. He also didn’t question why she had asked Elijah to introduce them in the first place.

"You looked pretty sexy yourself that night.. And now, too," Timmy finally whispered back, noticing the blush that graced her cheeks under the dim lights.

With a casual cough, he rose from his seat. "Be right back," he declared, weaving through the crowd with that effortlessly cool vibe he had mastered.

He flashed smiles at other familiar faces as he weaved through the crowd, grabbing a flute of wine and downing it in one gulp before snagging another and finally locating the master bathroom. It was as spacious as the rest of the penthouse, with a large tub overlooking the cityscape.

Staring at his oily, sweat-slicked face in the mirror, Timmy stumbled over to the tub and closed his eyes, the thumping music from outside still echoing in his ears.

“Timothée?” Someone poked their head through the bathroom door, interrupting his little nap. It was Gwen, her expression a mix of concern and relief upon spotting him there.

“Sorry, thought you’d taken off,” she said, her high heels tapping closer.

“Nah, just resting my eyes,” Timmy replied, unmoving.

Gwen smiled, standing in front of Timmy. He studied her; she was wearing a very tight latex red dress that hugged her body in all the right places. Big boobs, tiny waist, big ass. She was perfect if Timmy was into it at all.

“Want a bump?” Gwen offered, producing a tiny plastic pouch from her clutch.

“That all you got in there?” Timmy joked, his eyes soft, still heavy with fatigue.

Gwen giggled, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear as Timmy sat up to partake. He noticed her watching him closely, deciphering the meaning behind those eyes. He chuckled softly as they took turns with the white powder.

“So,” Timmy began, tapping his fingers on the tub. “Any last-minute advice before I meet the in-laws?”

Gwen snorted, shaking her head as she chuckled again. Timmy helped her into the tub, her dress clinging tightly to her as she settled beside him.

“She can be such a handful,” Gwen admitted with a playful toss of her hair. “I mean, you know I always get what I want. But she's, like, a whole-nother level. Like, she literally wants the universe,” she added with a roll of the eye.

“Will there be a contract or something? With a time frame and all?” Timmy asked.

Gwen lightly dabbed her nose with the back of her finger, brushing her hair aside with a vacant smile. She smelled nice.

“She does this every time the new season comes... You know how it goes,” she explained with a shrug.

Timmy snorted. “I’m flattered that your show needs my name for the hype,” he smirked.

Gwen giggled. “You’re totally a rockstar now.”

“Just um, you know, remember to set your own boundaries,” Gwen added, her fingers playing absentmindedly with Timmy’s sweater string.

“I know it’s not, like, the coolest thing to be seen with me,” she said softly. “So, like, make sure you tell her where you want us to be together, and where you don’t wanna be seen with me..” she added, her tone surprisingly genuine.

“..I don’t want you to deal with all the drama.”

Timmy studied her.

“I won’t be the only one with drama. You’re literally the most famous person in America, Gwen. If not the world,” Timmy pointed out.

Gwen scoffed. “Yeah right,” she giggled, flashing him a vapid smile.

“Why are you telling me this?” Timmy asked.

“I don’t know, maybe I’m feeling generous,” Gwen replied with a weak smile.

“You’re new to this scene. I don’t want to see you, like, totally crash and burn,” she said, a hint of sincerity peeking through her airheaded facade.

She twirled the string of his sweater again, looking a little lost.

The scene was surprising for Timmy. Gwen Johnson, Hollywood’s ultimate icon—loved, loathed, perpetually the subject of every conversation and headlines either way—looked almost pitiful, small, and undeniably wasted.

“Is that why you wanted to meet before I meet your mom?” Timmy asked softly.

Gwen’s demeanor shifted, as if she were struggling to maintain her sweet composure as she met Timmy’s gaze.

“Psshh.. I’m no angel, Timmy,” she said before taking a sip from Timmy’s glass, her tone betraying a hint of clarity.

“Maybe I just want to, like, get to know you for real before we have to put on a show tomorrow and beyond,” Gwen admitted, “Learn to kiss for the camera.”

Timmy was caught off guard, lost, and honestly? Utterly exhausted.

So when Gwen leaned in for a kiss, he accepted it, closing his eyes and letting their lips meet in a slow, tentative dance.

"Gwen, you're wasted," Timmy whispered, pulling back slightly.

"Yeah, but that's when you know it's the real me," Gwen replied cheesily, leaning in for another kiss without missing a beat.

"That sounds f*cked up.”

"Ha, you'll figure it out soon enough," she whispered, then swiftly unzipped his pants, taking hold of his semi-hard co*ck and began to stroke it messily.

She traced his neck with her tongue, her teeth, leaving marks he knew would be visible in the morning.

"I f*cking hope not," Timmy muttered, his eyes shuttering closed as Gwen took him deep into her throat, her movements sloppy and unrestrained, filling the penthouse tub with a symphony of indecent sounds.

Whose place was this again? Kim Oates... Stella Lindley... Alex Gerber? He realized he hadn't even properly introduced himself to the host of the party, and suddenly, everything felt painfully bleak.

And then, like clockwork, his mind drifted to Armie.

Armie, Armie, Armie.

Naturally.

It had become his go-to escape, mentally cataloging every detail of Armie like a pathetic, desperate loser, because somehow, in the chaos of his mind, The memory of him and Armie felt like the only thing that’s… right.

What did he look like on that last pic he saw.

Oh, right. A thicker beard now.

Longer hair framing his face.

What was he wearing? His favorite grey t-shirt.

His f*cking white birkenstock,

Black cap…

His sunglasses on his hand.

The same one he had in Italy.

Ankle-length socks..

Black sneakers..

What else...

Ping.

.

.

Ping.

.

.

Groaning, Timmy groped around with his eyes closed, found his phone, and put it on silent.

That helped for a bit, but now the buzzing from the vibrations was even more annoying.

"Go to hell," Timmy muttered, tossing his phone to the corner of the room.

He buried his head under his pillows, the pounding hangover from last night making everything worse.

"Rise and shine," Will said, barging into Timmy's open-space bedroom in his sleek LA home.

His boots clomped closer until he flung open the curtains, letting in the brutal LA sun that pierced through Timmy's closed eyelids.The full window revealed a breathtaking view of Los Angeles, palm trees and hills after hills.

"Martha the IV lady is on her way. I got your smoothie, bagel, coffee, and, uh, sunomono from your favorite Japanese spot," Will said, tossing Timmy's scattered clothes onto the couch.

"Also, maybe don't open your phone today," Will added, sitting on the bed and pulling at Timmy's thick comforter, earning another groan.

"Wake up, man, seriously. We've got a long day," Will said.

Timmy groaned again, wincing at the clock. 11:42 AM.

"It's out?" Timmy croaked.

"Yeah, it's out," Will said. "It's freaking out. Headlines and sh*t.”

Timmy groaned once more, flopping onto his back.

"I can take a lot, but I seriously draw the line at waking up early," Timmy muttered.

"It's literally not early at all. The f*ck you mean?" Will said, tossing him a T-shirt. "Come on, I'll wait for you downstairs."

"Dude, can you get me my phone?" Timmy asked, glancing at the phone lying on the floor.

"You better not-," Will warned.

"I can handle it," Timmy insisted. Will sighed, walked over, and picked it up for him.

"Be ready in 20, seriously, we're late," Will said before leaving.

A couple of months had passed since Timmy made the devil's bargain with Silvia Johnson, Gwen's mom, sealing a deal that would haunt his phone for eternity. Gwen ended up conveniently absent, off shooting some toothpaste commercials while Timmy and Elijah struck his Faustian pact with Silvia.

His phone buzzed incessantly, a cacophony of disbelief and mockery from friends and strangers alike.

Is this real? [Link]

Scroll.

Yoooo not gwen dude

Scroll.

Power couple hard launch when?

Scroll.

Ur f*cking gwen johnson? [Meme]

Scroll.

Lol just saw twitter

U and gwen jokeson fr?

Scroll.

CONGRATZZZZ MAN

Scroll.

Dude [Link] ???

Didn’t know u wr bi

Scroll.

GWEN JOKESON [Meme]

TIMMY ANSWER!!!!!!!!!!

Timmy remained stoic, scrolling past the deluge of messages, past links to gossip rags and more memes. Even his sister's "wtf" text failed to rouse a response from him.

Then, in the middle of the noise, a notification he had personally subscribed to pierced through, jolting him awake.

"Armie Hammer first seen after months in Joshua Tree," the headline blared.

Timmy instantly sat up, his curiosity piqued as he clicked on the link.

Armie Hammer Emerges from Hiding in Joshua Tree: What's the Tea?

Guess who's back, back again? Armie Hammer, apparently! The "Social Network" star has been MIA for a hot minute, but he's finally resurfaced in Joshua Tree, of all places.

After keeping a low profile and reportedly spending time in the Cayman Islands with family, Hammer's return to American soil has tongues wagging and keyboards clicking.

Well, well, well, remember when we thought Armie Hammer was making a comeback in Elijah Coleman's movie and but it was actually another shorter blond, Raymond O'Neil? Talk about a classic Hollywood switcheroo! (and let's not forget Timothée Chalamet stealing scenes too! The only good thing about that movie, TBH).

Anyways, sources reveal that Hammer has been spotted at a vacation rental owned by a long-time family friend, sparking questions about his next career move. Is he on a soul-searching journey? Plotting his next big career move? Or just really into desert vibes?

We're not sure, but one thing's for sure: Armie's return has us all scratching our heads. Got any theories? Spill 'em in the comments below!

Timmy's stomach lurched reading his name appeared in an article about Armie. A twinge of guilt washed over him, though a perverse excitement bubbled up.

Then there he was in the pictures, Armie.

His skin bronzed, his muscles more defined, his beard gone, just light stubbles now. Strolling into what appeared to be a shop with a stranger by his side. The images were so clear that Timmy found himself holding his breath, zooming in to capture every nuance.

New tattoo.

No.

New tattoos.

He zoomed in on every one of them, cursing under his breath that he couldn't see them clearly through the pixels.

He read the caption.

Actor Armie Hammer and Ashton Ramsey, vacation rental mogul and owner of vacation motel Bucky 99 in Twentynine Palms, shopping around Joshua Tree area on Saturday.

Timmy’s bed was plush—unlike the rock-hard excuse for a mattress in his old New York studio. He rubbed himself against it – half-awake, then rolled onto his back, phone in hand, eyes scanning through pictures of Armie, zooming in and all.

He didn't even notice when his other hand moved down, lost in the familiar details. He moaned softly as he stroked his co*ck lazily, the sound almost surprising him. Entranced, obsessed. Armie’s pictures had him under a spell.

At first, he tried cataloging the differences between the last picture he saw, checking from head to toe.

Those tattoos.

His focus wavered as his breath grew more ragged, and he finally closed his eyes, conjuring the image of Armie from those years ago in Italy.

Then he traced those tattoos in his mind, grazing the coarse blonde hair.

He could almost feel the it, taste the skin.

His phone lay forgotten on the bed as his hand snaked through his body, longing for the giant of a man who once held him so gently, so warmly, in the cocoon of their lonely nights.

“f*ck..”

“Ah–, Armie,”

.

.

“Fuu-uck..”

Armie couldn't sleep. Not that night, not the night after, or the night after that. He was exhausted from tiling and painting rooms, from hauling couches and beds, but the relentless insomnia persisted.

Timmy.

How naive he'd been to think he could just avoid him, as if returning from his self-imposed exile would erase Timmy from his life. The moment Coleman’s movie hit theaters, he knew Timmy’s fame had exploded. Armie hadn't watched the movie, of course. He was too busy convincing himself he was committed to his recovery, to his endless cycle of sober meetings.

What he hadn’t anticipated was the omnipresence of Timmy, everywhere. Billboards plastered with his face lining the boulevards, his voice echoing from TVs and radios. How quickly does it take to make a star? It was true then, Timmy had always been destined for this, a born star who simply needed a spotlight. Or maybe it just felt like a lifetime since he’d last seen Timmy, and he hadn’t noticed.

Why?

Because Timmy kept invading his thoughts, unbidden and relentless?

He harbored a secret, one he guarded closely, sharing only with Nick and Alicia, though even they didn't grasp its full weight. In therapy sessions and at sober meetings, Timmy's name never crossed his lips. No need, he'd insist. It was just a fleeting moment, a pleasant diversion during a storm - nothing more, nothing less.

Yet, after two years, he should have known better. He should have been more self-aware. The truth of why he skirted around the topic of Timmy loomed large. He had made peace with his family, his father, his mother, all seemed well. But Timmy... Somehow, he just couldn't bring himself to address this issue. This issue with Timmy.

He didn't want to confront it. It wasn't a problem, it wasn't broken; it was just a passing fancy. He feared that acknowledging it as a problem would mean it needed fixing. And selfishly, he didn't want to fix it. He wanted to hold on to thoughts of Timmy, to keep them pristine, untouched by the harsh light of reality. The reality that perhaps, just perhaps, he needed to truly move on from the specter of those weeks.

Were they even real?

Seriously?

Anyways. Armie would be lying if he said he wasn’t nervous about today. He could hear Ashton outside, welcoming James Kessler with exaggerated laughs and those idiotic jokes.

“Ready?” Nick asked, offering a reassuring smile that did nothing to quell the unease gnawing at Armie.

“There he is,” Ashton announced as he stepped out to greet Kessler.

Their last conversation for the article had dragged on longer than Armie expected. He had always been wary of writers, especially journalists and critics. He was no stranger to scathing reviews and sarcastic remarks about his performances. Although Kessler seemed nice so far.

“Armie, what’s up?” Kessler greeted him with a nod before shaking his hand. Armie saw him turn to see Nick, giving him a wider smile. “Hey, Nick, finally got to meet in person,” Kessler said warmly.

“James, yeah, finally,” Nick smiled back at him.

“How was your trip?” Armie asked, keeping his tone warm.

“Not bad. Had to fly in because of my schedule,” Kessler replied.

“Busy man,” Armie said with a smile.

“An excuse to get some peace in the desert, to be honest,” Kessler grinned to the three of them, earning a boisterous laugh from Ashton. Nick shot Ashton a look to shut the hell up, but Armie just chuckled.

“I’ve shown him to his room and showed his robe– monogrammed, of course,” Ashton announced, clearly proud of his hospitality.

“Oh?” Armie raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah, I’m staying over the weekend if that’s alright with you, man,” Kessler explained. “I was planning to leave tonight but thought, f*ck it, why not?” He smirked at Armie, but his gaze flickered briefly to Nick.

“Hell yeah, you need some fresh air. Bet your eyes are too dry from all that writing and reading,” Ashton said, grinning ear to ear. “You can have dinner at our restaurant, it’s walking distance,” he pointed to the west, “and in the morning, I’ll take you on the best hiking route,” he added with a smile.

"I'm not much of an outdoorsman so don’t expect an adventure,” Kessler replied. "What's on the menu for dinner?" he asked Nick.

"All kinds. Lamb chops, ribeye. I won't lie, Armie has perfected most of the recipes here," Nick said, giving Armie a knowing look.

"In that case, I'll save my appetite for dinner," Kessler said, his smile lingering on Nick a moment longer. “I need to make some calls, but I’ll see you guys in an hour?”

“Yeah, sure,” Armie replied. “I’ll knock on your door.”

“I think he fancies you,” Armie said, slicing through the silence that lingered after a brief dinner with Nick, Ashton, and James Kessler. Kessler was still jetlagged, and the big dinner was pushed to tomorrow. Armie couldn’t decide if stretching out the tension was a good thing or a bad thing.

The motel had come together nicely. At the moment, Armie and Nick stayed at the house beside the motel, still on the property, while Ashton was holed up in another place five minutes away, another renovation project they were doing.

"Fancies me?” Nick’s voice was tinged with amusem*nt.

“Yeah,” Armie repeated.

“What do you mean he fancies me? Also, who still says fancies these days?” Nick smirked, eyes glinting.

Armie shrugged, his gaze shifting. “I just think he likes you.” He turned to face Nick, flipping through TV channels. “I think he wants to get in your pants.”

“And you’re jealous?” Nick leaned closer, his tone challenging, eyes locked on Armie.

“No,” Armie replied, his voice steady. “I’m not jealous.” He leaned in too, their noses almost touching.

“And why is that?” Nick whispered, the question hanging in the air.

“Because I have no right to be,” Armie stated, matter-of-fact.

Nick’s smile faltered, pulling back and breaking their gaze with a soft throat-clear.

He could see Armie’s eyes went soft, like a puppy.

“You’re a good person, Armie,” Nick said, his tone firm. “I know you hate it when I say that, but I won’t stop saying that.”

Armie offered a slow nod, his head finding solace on Nick’s shoulder, the ache of the evening settling in.

“Do you think you’re ready for it?” Nick’s question sliced through the haze, gentle yet insistent.

“I don’t know,” Armie confessed, the doubt clawing at him like a hungry animal.

Nick’s sigh was barely audible, a whisper against Armie’s ear.

“You’ve achieved and overcome more than most,” Nick’s tone hardened, a rare edge creeping in. “You don’t give yourself enough credit, so I’ll do it for you…”

Armie shut his eyes tight, their breaths syncing in a rhythmic cadence, a fleeting moment of peace amidst the chaos.

With a casual air, Nick rattled off Armie's achievements, each one a testament to his ability to navigate life's f*cked up twists and turns– Everything he had built, torn down, and rebuilt again with sheer persistence.

“You were unlucky before,” Nick murmured, his hand stroking Armie’s back. “Simply unlucky. It won’t be like that again.”

Armie wished he could believe it, truly wished he could.

The early morning they went on a hike, Joshua Tree is beautiful at dawn. Armie never felt more at ease than when he was on a large space of nature; whether the beach, the desert.

James Kessler asked about the renovation gig; how it had been helping Armie’s sobriety journey, how Armie had been studying more and more about architecture, his love for Italian midcentury architecture; he mentioned traveling to Italy, and how it was what made him sober, although he didn’t state the reason why; he told Kessler it was one of the time when pulling geography works; he needed to get out of LA.

“It’s crazy how you leave LA and realize life isn’t just that,” Armie said, glancing at Ashton, who was taking pictures for their website. Nick trailed behind, listening.

"I'm not just that. I’m not just, my career,” he smiled.

“But I didn't know myself, so the only way I could catch a glimpse of who I was, was through the reflections of others—criticisms, compliments… I’m sure you’ve read my Twitter feuds,” he chuckled.

“None of it was anchored in anything real, so I found myself on shaky ground for years, f*cking grasping for something solid," he confessed.

"Hollywood isn't your friend to tell you who you are. And when you create distance from it, you realize how f*cking dumb the whole industry is. I’m sure you know."

“Hollywood’s just a speck of the whole filmmaking world anyway. Loser crowd if you ask me,” Kessler agreed. “But do you think you were running away from reality when you left LA?”

“Maybe I was,” Armie admitted. “But if I had stayed there, living the way I was, that would’ve been running away for real. I was definitely escaping for years. My career path.. and my.. family situations. Going away was me facing my sh*t,” he said, as the sky grew brighter.

“So what’s “reality” now?” Kessler asked.

“My day to day, I’m spending time with people I love, doing things I love. Personally I love doing groceries,” he joked.

“I just saw another article with your ex-wife the other day– In a way, aren’t you letting them win?” Kessler probed.

Armie smiled, turning to Kessler and then sneaking a glance at Nick.

“I don’t know,” Armie said. “I don’t think about it like that. Winning, losing... It’s just my life. Is it a game? Maybe a long one… I f*cking hope,” he chuckled.

“I just know I’m at peace with everything I’ve done now, and everything I’m doing.”

"Armie is winning 'cause he's going to be a monk," Ashton interjected. "He's gone all spiritual now. My money's on monkhood... Or maybe a super charming cult leader," he added, nudging Armie teasingly.

"I wish, man," Armie erupted into laughter. "I still f*ck things up here and there, unfortunately," he admitted.

"Life's a work in progress!" Ashton declared to the open air.

They laughed. Armie could feel Kessler’s eyes on him, and he gave him another smile before looking out at the vast landscape. He thought about so many places he’d been, he could feel the warmth of the soil and the sun all over him.

They had breakfast at their usual spot, a quintessential Americana diner. Pancakes and sausage piled high, black coffee flowing like lifeblood as they talked for hours. Ashton was on about the motel’s success, how their properties all over California were a hit. Their Hollywood connections didn’t hurt—celebrities and industry folks often found their way there.

“LA’s great, but I prefer here,” Ashton said. “People are friendlier. Maybe because their faces actually move, not all botoxed up.”

“Please don’t put that in the article,” he added, half-serious.

Kessler chuckled. “That’s the tamest thing you’ve said in twenty hours. You’ll be fine.”

Nick shook his head, Armie chuckled, and flagged down the waitress for another coffee.

“This bacon is amazing,” Kessler said.

“Wait till you taste Armie’s recipe tonight,” Nick smiled.

“Now include that in the piece,” Ashton quipped. “Armie Hammer Breaks His Silence—A5 Wagyu and All.”

Returning to the motel, Armie was eager to wash off the day's dust. As he walked to his cottage, he noticed a figure inside through the large glass window, leaning on the receptionist's desk with a bag and a small suitcase.

Well, f*ck.

Those unmistakable curls.

Armie’s steps faltered for a moment, his curiosity piqued. His feet moved almost on autopilot, leading him inside until the doorbell snapped him back to reality.

The figure turned,

and there he was.

“Oh, hi.”

Armie froze, unprepared for this encounter. To hear that voice, not from TV, or his car radio.

Embarrassingly, he couldn't help but feel a twinge of insecurity creeping in; he was in a t-shirt, sweaty, his track pants a tad too short, and his sneakers looking more like relics from a construction site than footwear.

The figure in front of him offered a tight smile, raised eyebrows.

Silence hung in the air until the receptionist’s call broke the tension.

“Mr. Chalamet?”

Timmy grabbed the key, offering a muttered thanks before turning his gaze back to Armie, a hint of uncertainty in his expression.

“Why are you here?” Armie managed to ask.

“Got a bit of free time.”

Armie’s expression didn’t shift a bit.

“Decided to stalk me again?” Armie’s voice lowered.

Timmy flinched. “Like the old times? No,” he countered, a hint of defensiveness creeping in.

“Booked this place weeks ago. Thought you knew.”

Armie studied Timmy’s face, his own inscrutable.

Timmy met his gaze.

“It’s not my job to keep tabs on the guestlist,” Armie replied, his tone cool.

“Then why the sudden interest?” Timmy shot back.

Armie was about to respond when his attention flicked around the lot.

“You’re alone?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“No entourage in tow?”

Timmy’s face hardened.

“I don’t think you’ll like it here. We don’t have big suites or nothing.”

Timmy scoffed.

“Least you could do is ask how I’m doing,” he muttered.

“Why are you really here, Timmy?” Armie prodded, stepping closer.

“I—”

“Chalamet!” Ashton’s voice echoed from behind. Armie didn’t even hear the bell this time.

Timmy’s demeanor shifted, a practiced smile replacing his earlier stiffness.

“Ashton, right?” he said, extending his hand.

Ashton opted for a friendly embrace. “Pleasure to meet you. You’re taller in person,” he remarked with a chuckle. “How was your trip?”

“Not bad,” Timmy replied, a hint of charm in his smile. “Drove all the way down.”

“You must be exhausted!” Ashton exclaimed. “Oh, you’ve met Armie,” he added, turning to see Armie, perhaps to gauge his friend’s reaction to meeting another ‘celebrity’ in the wild.

“Yeah, the one and only,” Timmy said, flashing Armie a coy smile before focusing on Ashton once more.

“Well, Timothée—” Ashton began.

“—Just Timmy, man,” Timmy interjected.

“Timmy, if you’re up for it, you’re welcome to join us for dinner tonight. We have this quaint spot nearby, walking distance actually, private dining and all—it’ll be a blast,” Ashton offered, his enthusiasm palpable.

Timmy’s smile widened, and Armie fought the urge to roll his eyes.

Timmy glanced at him briefly before turning back to Ashton.

“Uh... yeah,” Timmy nodded. “Sure, if it’s no trouble.”

“Fantastic!” Ashton exclaimed. “7 PM here?”

“7 PM it is,” Timmy confirmed.

“Excellent,” Ashton beamed. “Welcome to Bucky 99!”

Timmy gave them a wave, strolled down the narrow hallway.

“I had his robe monogrammed too,” Ashton mentioned to Armie as they both observed the rockstar in the desert, looking out of place with his cool as hell accessories and leather outfit.

"Wonder why he's not bringing his girl, though," he added.