Theory [TOM HOLLAND]

FIFTY SIX

video call with tom?

confirm or cancel

connecting...

"mel?"

she's prepared herself for this moment.

she's prepared herself to see him on the screen, after so many weeks. she knows exactly how much it'll make the hollow place in her chest ache when she looks him in the eyes. she's planned what she's going to say, how she'll sit, how long it will take to mend the sharp and broken edges between them.

but she's forgotten to prepare herself for him. for the way his hair curls at the nape of his neck, and the tiny mole under his eye, and the way every syllable of her name curls up on his tongue, rough around the edges like he's just woken up. she's forgotten to prepare herself for the tremble in her fingertips and the sandpaper taste in her mouth and the way her heartbeat trips over itself pathetically.

she freezes. he's looking at her on the screen, and her veins are full of ice and glass. she tries to form a response, but her tongue is stuck to the roof of her mouth and the words die somewhere halfway to her lips.

so she does the only thing she can think of, which is to duck below her desk , out of sight, with a squeak.

"mel, what—"

and pulls the the power cord on her computer.

video call ended 1:45 am!

incoming video call from tom!

accept or deny

connecting...

"mel?" tom repeats.

mel checks to see if her tongue has decided to fulfill its function, but it's still cowering in the back of her mouth, frozen like the rest of her.

"did you just hang up on me?"

"there was a technical malfunction," she manages, finally.

"oh?"

"yeah...i technically hung up on you."

"mel..."

tom rubs his eyes and she realizes, finally, how tired he looks. and not just because of the time difference. his eyes are red and glassy and there's a hole in the collar of his shirt, next to the spot just below his chin where she can tell he cut himself shaving. purple shadows like bruises bloom under his eyes, stained into his skin much deeper than just one night.

"i..."

mel swallows hard.

she wishes this was a perfect moment. she wishes it wasn't the middle of the night and she wasn't wearing her glasses or her pajama bottoms with the pudding stain on them and she wishes her heart wasn't pounding painfully against her rib cage. she wishes she could've planned their moment, shaped and coerced it into what she wanted like she'd done with the rest of her life.