𝐲𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰 | tom blyth

.002 // claire

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     CLAIRE DIDN'T expect much from the ten-hour trip, but she also expected she wasn't going to be overly bubbly when landing. What she didn't expect was the first person she saw off the plane would be a male and not her cousin. Unless her cousin turned into a tall, muscular hunk that she knew probably had all the girls hitting on him everywhere he went. In fact, it would be surprising if he didn't and she'd be concerned.

But Claire swore off any and all relationships. Not that she was thinking about it with this guy—Tim?—but still a cautious thought to have nonetheless. Rolling her suitcase along with her stride, her brown eyes glazed the airport and the people in it. She was American, that was obvious. And if it wasn't, her airport outfit gave it away. Surely, she wasn't going to actually be pushed to trust some guy her cousin raved about yet never actually introduced to her... right?

"Hello," Tim welcomed. Or was it Tom?

Claire studied him for a second before nodding and returning the smile he gave her. Hers wasn't as warm as his. Hers was a tired one that had a bit of hesitation behind it. "Hi, Tim."

There was something in his eyes that she couldn't quite figure out, but it was a comforting look that made her shoulders ease and relax.

"Tom."

"Huh?"

A chuckle, although awkward and strained, left his lips. "Tom is the name. Tom Blyth."

"Oh," Claire's brows lifted in surprise. "Right, Tom. I actually think the pilot was named Tim and, well, y'know... uh, American brains and all."

"No, I don't think I do." Because he's British, you dipshit, she lectured herself.

Before saying anything else, Tom grabbed the handle of her suitcase and pulled it along as he walked toward the exit. He walked fast, just like Rachel. Maybe it was an acting thing, or maybe it was a New Yorker thing. She didn't ask too many questions when it came to her cousin's film industry life. In fact, she kind of enjoyed the secrecy it held. It was something she didn't experience and, coming from a slower kind of lifestyle in the south, she wanted to keep the magic alive. This was her first time visiting anything film-related and, like clockwork, Rachel was busy and couldn't actually give Claire the time of day unless it was fit into her schedule.

That didn't mean the blonde resented her cousin. In fact, she found it admirable how busy and productive she was in life and in her career. It was more than she could say for herself, but that wasn't anything she'd get into anytime soon. Maybe her friends back home spoiled her too much, but there was something fun and exciting about not knowing what the future held. Claire's parents didn't agree with that, though.

"Claire, right?"

Her mind was jolted out of deep thought, which she appreciated about the interruption. Her brows furrowed. "Hm?"

"Rachel told me your name but I wanted to make sure she wasn't fucking with me again."

"Right, yeah, Claire." Her hand stuck out for a shake. With an over-the-top English accent, she cleared her throat to begin talking—her slight southern accent hinted in the change of speech. "Claire is the name. Claire Calloway."

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     "YOU CAN'T be mad at me, Claire," Rachel stated simply through a mouthful of undercooked spaghetti. "You can't even be any emotion besides happy toward me. It's forbidden in my apartment."