Far From Home // t.h.

30 - y/n

As hectic as your first day on set had been, it was nothing compared to once shooting started. The days seemed to go by in a monotonous haze of repetitive tasks such as bringing water bottles and cups of tea and coffee, and standing by with jackets, scripts and schedule pages. But at the same time, each day was a whirlwind of adventure. Watching such a big production take place was fascinating, seeing how all these people worked like a well-oiled machine to keep the film gears running. If you didn't know better and didn't have one of those earpieces and coms at your ear yourself, you would think that all the production crew could read each other's minds considering how fast and smooth they operated around the sets.

Of course, it wasn't all glamour. With Tom's schedule consisting of long filming days and early role calls, you had to get up even earlier to assure he made it on time to set and got home even later than he did. It took some work to get used to, but so far, no time mismanagement had occurred, and you had even heard from some lovely makeup artist's that Tom had never been this precise with his timing for a job before.... And they were fully aware that the change wasn't coming from him.

No, Tom was a disaster, in the sweetest sense possible, and you quickly found out why he needed someone like you to be around him almost every hour of the day. There always seemed to be so much going on in his head, barely any of it of use for the upcoming work hours. So despite the sun barely being up as you drove up to the studio, he was jumping around in his seat, only stopping his talking to sip from the cup of coffee you brought him. That was also why those drives to and from the studio, while at the most despicable hours of the day when you wished you could have just stayed in bed, were quickly becoming some of your favourite moments. It gave you and Tom an excellent opportunity to get to know each other (as well as Q, who often joined in on the banter of the backseat).

You'd share stories of childhood, school, previous jobs– all far more interesting coming from Tom's end, you thought, but you noticed how attentive he was to your words, clinging to each one and asking questions of each small detail.

It was one of these mornings, usually filled with casual conversation and companionship, that was now interrupted by slight panic.

Everyone was used to the horrible traffic that captured London, but this particular Tuesday morning was a new hell for some reason. The car moved so slow you barely saw a change in the scenery outside. You could have been standing still for all you knew.

"Shit, I'm gonna be late, aren't I?" Tom rubbed the palms of his hands against his jeans nervously. For someone with such horrible time management, as he had on his own, he was still always very stressed about the matter.

"I already texted everyone telling them we're stuck in traffic," you said as you checked your phone, "and so seems to be... everyone else." The group chat among the PAs was filled with worried emoji faces as the conclusion seemed to build up that most of the cast was nowhere near the studio. An Instagram notification popped up on your screen, but you quickly swiped it away.

In the meantime, Tom shook the entire car with the nervous bouncing off his leg. You glanced his way, and he would stop, smiling apologetically, just to resume a second later. Finally, after a fifth time of this little game of Red Light, Green Light, you decided to stop and let him be but still attempted to calm him down.

"There is nothing to worry about. Traffic in London is as natural as the grim and grey weather. No one will be mad at you for being late. It's my job to get you on set on time."

"No, you have nothing to do with this." Tom burst out, panic-stricken. "I won't let anyone give you shit for this. It's absolutely my fault. I made you wait at home because of this stupid— ugh!" He groaned at the sight of his water bottle, which was in the middle seat of the car, right between you and him. Tom's frustrations with the object were quite exaggerated. Sure, he had searched for it, but no longer than a minute or two before you had found it in the kitchen (the first place you had told him to look, to which he had responded that, of course, that was the first place he searched... and yet...). Somehow, in the stress of the traffic blockage, Tom had utterly forgotten that you had actually left the house, and the car had left about five minutes ahead of schedule. Everything had been going perfectly to plan until the wretched motorway.