FOR LONDON [1: TOM HOLLAND]

CHAPTER TWENTY THREE

She hums softly under her breath, the melody interrupted only by the sharp clinking of the spoon against the ceramic of the mug of coffee she's stirring absentmindedly. He cradles his own steaming cup to his chest, watching her do so, and resisting the urge to talk first; he likes the way she hums beneath her breath seemingly without realising; low and sweet.

He keeps opening and closing his mouth; lips parting to make way for words that don't come so he presses them back together again. Maria is doing him the kindness of pretending she hasn't noticed, focusing on her overly sweetened drink, because she'd lost count of sugar cubes and started again. Tom — in turn — was nice enough not to draw attention to that, either.

"So," She begins, finger tapping against the side of her cup; another sound to add to the steadily growing layers that they're creating to fill the space around them.

He lets out a breathy laugh, "So," He parrots without intentionally meaning to do so.

To potentially attempt to hide the way his cheeks are flooding with a bright  blush - he takes a long sip of his drink, only to find himself wincing as he realises all-too-late that his tea is still far too hot to drink. He swallows it anyway, then shakes his head at himself.

Tom lets out a breathy laugh to cover his embarrassment at the easily avoided mistake, but it's soon lost beneath Maria's loud laughter. It's perhaps the only time she doesn't sound wonderfully musical and dignified; it's one of those laughs filled with ugly noises and snorts; the kind that makes someone's eyes scrunch up tight, while lines etch into their cheeks and forehead; head tipped back from the sheer force of it. And it's still one of the best things that Tom's ever heard.

God, he's so gone on her, and the most surprising part of that is that it only fills him with excitement and hope; no fear in sight.

And suddenly, it's so so easy —

"I love you," he says all at once; rushed, words blurring into one another but still full of heart; still easily picked apart, the admiration and adoration he holds for this girl vocalised finally. 

Much to his relief, it isn't one of those moments where Maria's laughter is cut off, shock winning out over it. Instead she keeps laughing - not at him or his declaration, never at him - just because (because of what, neither of them really know, but simply because . . . is good enough for him). And this moment — this moment — is something he never wants to forget; wants it to fill every part of him until he's fit to burst. Wants it to burn itself onto his eyelids, waiting for him every single time he so much as blinks, there in his mind as he sleeps. Always with him.

She reaches for his hand, gentle yet somewhat clumsy. He turns his palm over and slots his fingers in the gap between hers that he would swear were made for him.

For this. 

Her eyes are open now; softening by the second, and when Tom tugs on her hand, drawing her closer, she doesn't resist. She just goes along with it, letting herself be moved until she's at his side. She fits herself snugly to the curve of his body, and it's new — all of this is new — but the way it makes her feel? — Well, she's not sure it'll every get old. 

Not for her.

Not with him. 

"Tom," She says, and it's so like the way she said it just three days ago, when the words lingered in the space beneath the doorframe where they'd first kissed. But it's entirely different, somehow, at the same time; stronger, more confident. It's just his name, but she means so much more. He hears so much more behind it, beneath it, surrounding the single syllable she utters. 

She kisses him because . . . because she can, more than anything else, but just because, too —

"I love you," She says.

And his heart doesn't skip a beat; his breath doesn't catch in his throat; his eyes don't fill with tears.

No. He beams, bright and beautiful, and she does too.

And yeah — yes! She loves him. She does.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: uh my dudes I love them