Far From Home // t.h.

23 - Tom

Tom walked down the stairs, now dressed from neck to toe, tucking his phone in his pocket when he was greeted with the sound of laughter. Once downstairs, he walked in on the image of y/n sitting in the lounge chair, relaxed and leaning back into the material of the oversized chair. Her laugh harmonised with Harry's as they belted out in hysterics over something one of them said.

"Oh my god, that's hilarious," y/n said, taking a deep breath to compose herself. At that moment, she caught the sight of Tom standing at the foot of the staircase. "Oh, hi."

Harry quickly turned around to face his brother. "Took you long enough."

"What were you guys laughing about?" Tom inquired, looking at y/n, hoping she would be more of a reliable source than his younger brother.

"Oh, nothing really." She said, looking over at Harry, sharing a small giggle with him. As curious as Tom was about their topic of conversation (understanding from this context it most certainly included him somewhere), he wasn't too bothered about being kept in the dark on it. Instead, his mind was occupied with the sight in front of him. y/n looked so comfortable sitting there in his living room. Her warm laugh sparked joy in himself that he didn't want to get rid of. A smile was tugging at his lips as he watched his brother and his new assistant become friends. It was definitely something he could get used to in the upcoming future.

"Tom?" he heard someone say, "are you ok?" It was y/n. Tom shook out his dwindling thoughts and returned to the here and now.

"Mmm, mhm, yeah. I'm fine. Why?"

"You just seemed to have spaced out a little. It was freaky." Harry said, "you kind of went like-" he then proceeded to freeze up, widening his eyes as far as possible, looking like a frozen deer in the headlights... with the headlights being those of a speeding combine.

"No, I didn't." Tom rolled his eyes, then looked at y/n, who didn't seem to entirely agree with him. "No. I didn't."

"You did, a little bit," she admitted, showing how little he looked like a moron with her fingers, pinching her thumb and index finger together. But he had gotten out of that zone at least and was now standing up, fully clothed, and fully conscious of his surroundings– only a little bit sleep deprived, but at least clean and fresh out of the shower. His hair was still slightly damp, but that would dry out in no time. A part of him wanted to ask y/n what she thought of his outfit. It wasn't anything special even. He was just wearing some worn-out jeans and a t-shirt, but not even so deep down; he was seeking her opinion.

Maybe she could read his mind, which would have been disastrous in various ways and scenarios, for y/n spoke up not long after he had had those thoughts: "maybe you should put on a different shirt?"

"What? Why?"

"Your hair isn't dry yet; it completely soaked up your shoulders." Her observation made Tom look at his shoulder, and though he couldn't see it very clearly from the angle, he saw that the water from his hair had dripped down his head onto his shoulders, leaving behind two identical large and wet patches on both sides.

"Ah fuck," Tom groaned, "ok, wait, I'll be right back."