Theory [TOM HOLLAND]

FORTY THREE

REAL LIFE.

he's standing outside her dorm building, a tall brick building choked by ivy.

in all honesty, tom isn't entirely sure how he got here. he remembers waking up in his hotel room this morning. he remembers realizing mel was was three hundred and seventy five miles away. he remembers the ache of missing her, the same as every morning for the past three weeks.

but the rest of the day is a blur, eight hours of driving lost to him. he got in the car and left la without thinking, his body speaking for him like a reflex. there's a small voice telling him he's crazy for driving all this way just to see her, but that voice is drowned in the sea of his heart.

the shrill electronic ringing of his phone pierces his thoughts, making him jump.

his stomach gives a jolt when he sees mel's scowling face on the screen, giving him the middle finger.

he turns his face to the sky, eyes narrowed.

"if there's a god up there," he mutters "your idea of comedic timing sucks."

a girl passing by looks at him strangely and grabs onto her bag tighter, like he might make a grab for it. it makes sense. he's been standing here for twenty seven minutes and grumbling at the sky. he'd worry about his valuables too.

he presses the answer button and holds his phone up to his ear.

"hey, mel!" he says, trying to sound casual and cheerful.

"that was the fakest hello you've ever given me," she says, as a form of greeting. "you sound like you're being held hostage. if you are, i'm not paying to get you back."

"if i'm being held hostage, you're probably the one who ordered it."

"aw, you know me so well. anyways, how's la?"

"oh, it's um. . .it's. . ."

"don't bother. i'm just messing with you," she laughs. "you've been outside my window for like half an hour. we took bets to see how long it would take you to stop looking tortured and sad and come inside. ian said forty minutes and i really want him to lose, so i'm calling to invite you in now."

"wha—i—you—"

"also, you should probably come in because campus security thinks you're a threat. they called to warn us there was, and i quote, a "a suspicious caucasian boy" staring into the third floor windows."

"how did you even know it was me?"

"you're wearing the shirt i made you as a goodbye present. it's not exactly subtle."

tom looks down at his bright blue t-shirt. mel had given it to him before she'd left. he must've put it on last night and forgotten to change, because there's no other way he would've otherwise voluntarily selected a shirt with carl sagan's head, a pink heart, and the words "carl me maybe" written on the back.

"i'll buzz you in," she says, then hangs up.

there's a long beep and the door makes a low, harsh grating noise before swinging opens an inch. he pushes it open hesitantly to find himself in some sort of common room, lined with frayed couches and a whiteboard that says "2 DAYS SINCE SAJAN'S LAST FIRE".

he watches as a tall girl with blonde hair comes down the stairs next to him with a sigh, an empty watering can in her hand. she erases the two on the board and replaces it with a zero. when she sees him, she just shakes her head and goes back upstairs.

"oh my god, you must be tom!" a sunny voice shrieks suddenly from somewhere behind him.

he turns to find himself being attacked by a pair of arms and a head of golden brown hair. the arms wrap around him tightly in a bone-crushing hug. when the girl releases him, he tries not to gasp for air too loudly and tries to subtly spit out some of her hair, which has found its way into his mouth.