FOR LONDON [1: TOM HOLLAND]

CHAPTER SIX

"If he calls again, I'll answer," she says decisively, as though she's speaking to her roommate who truly - hand on heart - could not care less about whether she picks up or not.

"Cool," Iris answers. She knows it's best to humour her, letting her believe that at least one of them is convinced that Maria is talking to anyone besides herself.

The youngest of the two of them distractedly nods her head, eyes fixed on her phone and the missed call that's lying on the lock screen.

This is it, she thinks, heart in mouth, he knows. Because has has to, right? 

There are things in Tom's song that can only even begin to make sense to him. 

Maria's focus is drawn away from his name for a moment by Iris messing up her hair on the way passed in a show of mock-reassurance. "Suck it up, buttercup. You knew what you were putting out there when you released those songs."

Coming from her, of all people, it's pretty sweet; Maria can appreciate the sentiment.

"Where are you off to?" Maria asks, as Iris grabs her bag and heads for the door.

The look she's levelled with could, quite possibly, kill. "Thursday is date night." Iris says with a roll of her eyes, undoing the catch on the door.

"Oh, sure. How could I forget," Maria says deadpan, as the other leaves; apparently, to Iris, that joke still hasn't gotten old. She, though, is just curious as to where her friend is actually going on a Thursday night each week by now.

Or, well, she would be if she wasn't back to staring at her phone as though it's going to doing something unforgivable if she looks away.

Like starting to ring again.

She glares at the photo on the screen, of the two of them on the London eye, and then answers the call. After all, she did promise to.

"Hello?" Maria begins. 

On the other end of the line, he clears his throat. 

"Hey," He begins, and - well - at least he doesn't sound angry or upset, if she's looking for the positives here.

"Hi," She says, and then mentally curses herself because - for goodness sake, Maria, you already did that part.

"I don't have long to talk," He says, and she's getting to be just confused.

Is this the sort of conversation you usually have with someone after they indirectly admit that they're stupidly, ridiculously, in love with you?

"O-Okay?" She's treading carefully; if he wants to ignore the elephant in the room then she - by all means - is absolutely game. The less she has to talk about her feelings, the better this is going to be for everyone involved.

She only seems to be good at it with an instrument to hand, and a melody to follow.

Words alone often escape her, or come out all wrong.

"I just wanted to see what you were doing next week, if that's okay?" 

"Uh sure." She offers, brow furrowed.

"I'm coming to L.A. again." Oh.

"You are?" Oh?

"Yeah, I have some meetings and - well - I haven't seem you in so long, I was kinda hoping we could squeeze a lunch in, at least. Catch up." Oh! He wants to have the talk in person, then. That's totally fine, and not at all terrifying.

"Oh -- Oh, sure! I have a couple of shoots going on, but I always have time for my favourite Brit," She says because she really wants to dig this hole even deeper. 

He's quiet for a moment, and shit, he's thinking about it, isn't he? 

Naming her songs after places was her second most stupid idea, she thinks. Directly after writing them in the first place; laying her feelings so unsubtly out in the open; people online are already beginning to suspect that Tom is either New York or London. Which is - you know - great.

God, she needs Iris to be here, to make dumb gestures and unhelpful suggestions from across the room until Maria is laughing so hard that any attempt to continue a conversation is futile, and she'd have no choice but to end this call.

"If I send you my schedule, do you think you can work yourself into it somewhere?" Tom suggests, having thought on it for a minute or two.

Maria, all too happy to have an excuse to end this conversation before she combusts, agrees quickly. "Of course!" She says, perhaps a little too enthusiastically, "Email it over, and I'll figure something out."

"Awesome, thank you!"

Her traitorous heart feels as though it skips a beat at how happy he sounds, even though it's just the smallest of things she picked up in his tone.

Turns out, she still loves him something terrible. Who'd have thought?

"No problem." She responds and then begins to add, "I'll let you get back to --" Only, he begins to speak over her, and she can't help but stop to listen.

"Congratulations -- on the album," He offers up softly, and he sounds almost proud. "I listened to it. It's really great." And now he sounds a little sad.

No prizes for guessing why.

"Thank you," And then -- "That really means a lot to me."

Tom makes a noncommittal noise, as though to brush aside the comment. As though he doesn't believe that Maria means it quite as much as she genuinely does.

There's a shout from the background of his end of the call; faint, but clearly his name.

"I have to go," He says, apologetically. It's weird, but he sounds genuinely disappointed at the prospect. "See you next week?" He asks, hope lingering with the words.

Maria tries to match the way he sounds; she's missed him too. "See you next week!"

And then she's hanging up as quickly as humanly possible.