The Only Exception - {TOM HOLLAND}

F O U R T E E N

The next time you wake up the clock on the bedside table reads a little past nine in the morning. You smack your lips a few times, your mouth feeling grimy from sleep, your eyes heavy as you try to rub the sleep out of them. Somehow between going to sleep and now you've wormed your way closer to the two boys in your bed.

Tom somehow got in the middle, starfished on his stomach with his curls sticking up against the pillow wildly. Ezra is half sprawled on his father's back, flipped around so his head faces the foot of the bed. Meanwhile you find yourself curled into Tom's side, your cheek using his bare shoulder as a pillow. You force yourself to calm down a bit, and after a moment of debate—because it's really comfy and warm—you get up without waking the boys.

You throw on a sweater you had draped on the back of your desk chair, padding out of the room trying to shut the door as softly as possible. After the early arrival and the long plane ride it's very possible that Tom and Ezra will sleep the day away.

The first place you head to is the bathroom to brush the sleep out of your mouth, happier with a minty fresh mouth as you walk into the kitchen. You can heart the TV in the media room, and the only person in the kitchen is your father who is pouring himself a massive cup of coffee.

"Morning Y/N," your father smiles, pulling you into a side hug.

You hold him close for a few extra seconds before pulling away, "morning Dad, you get back to sleep alright?"

"Mmmh," he hums softly, "you?"

"Uh yeah...I mean it was a little cramped but yeah," you say slowly, bending down to riffle through the counter's storage space, trying to find the item you needed.

After a beat your father asks, "cramped?"

You hesitate, pausing your searching with a soft sigh, "Ezra...wanted to sleep with both of us, so instead of shoving him and Tom into the guest room I just....let them pile onto my bed with me."

"Y/N," your father says sharply.

Glancing up at him you shake your head, "not a word Dad. Seriously, lemme just...figure everything out."

"What are you even looking for?" Your father asks instead, knowing not to push you too hard. Not when your boss-slash-hookup-slash-something and his son are here because your sister secretly talked with him and flew them out here to try and fix everything.

You look to the cupboard, pulling out the kettle that's been collecting dust for years. Suddenly you realize that you're going to make tea...for Tom, who enjoys a cup of tea in the morning first before water or coffee. That is unless he's filming because according to Harrison that boy consumes way too much coffee than what is considered healthy while on set.

"Don't worry about it," you sigh, closing the cabinet with your foot, moving to the sink to wash and fill the kettle, "keep making your coffee Pops."

Your father makes a non-committal sound, as if he wants to say more but stops himself. Instead of dwelling on how much your family apparently cares about this mess, you focus on prepping everything for tea; from the mug to the very limited tea selection. You make a cup of coffee for yourself, making it just the way you like it before walking to the media room.

Your mother is on the couch with Josephine beside her, lounging lazily as some show on HGTV plays.

"Hey," your mother says softly, fingers curled around her own cup of coffee.

You smile at her, "hi."

Josephine looks up and over and sighs softly, "I'm really sorry."

You purse your lips, "sorry isn't going to fix it Josie...but it's done now and they're here, so I'll deal with it. Next time I come home in crisis, just don't bud in, yeah?"