Always Been You | Tom Holland

EIGHT

Tom

I am jolted awake by my phone buzzing. Who the fuck is calling me? I blink a few times to adjust my vision, realizing I'm not in my room when I finally wake up. What the hell? I answer my phone without checking the caller I.D., ready to scold whoever is on the other line. My head is pounding and I can't even think straight. I feel like someone has been hitting me over the head with a plank of wood.

"Hello?" My voice is hoarse. What the hell was I doing last night?

"What the hell happened to you last night?" Ben's stern voice is on the other line. Ah, right. I walked Y/N home. Am I... In her flat? I look around to investigate but my throbbing head and still-blurry vision don't make it easy. 

"Y/N wanted to leave early so I walked her home." I sit up in bed and look around. I'm definitely in Y/N's flat. There are pictures of her and her friends and family everywhere. Some pictures of her and students she's worked with. I was too drunk to appreciate the decor last night, but it's very... Y/N. I don't know how to explain it. I also don't know how to explain the tightness in my belly right now. Am I just hungover? 

"You walked her home... and then never came home?" Yikes. Caught. I hate living next door to him.

"Well..." I truly don't know how to explain this to him. He's probably barely going to believe me when I tell him we didn't hook up. Quite the opposite, really. 

"If you're about to tell me you hooked up with my sister, I'm going to beat your ass." I have to hold back my laughter. It's so cute that he thinks he can beat my ass. "I don't care if you're a professionally trained superhero. I'll do it."

"Ben," I laugh. "I did not hook up with Y/N," I hear a breath leave his mouth. "We fought when we got back to her place, and I was genuinely worried about her, so I slept in her spare room. We were both pretty drunk." I run a hand through my hair and sigh.

"Well, I appreciate you getting her home," Seems like I'm off the hook. "Thanks for looking out for her even though she's a brat. I'll chat with you later, mate. Love you." 

"Yeah, chat later. Love you."

I hang up my phone and look around Y/N's guest room. She has good taste. Plus, the bed is super comfortable. I check the time: 10:23 AM. Fuck, dude. I'm hungover. I unlock my phone and send Y/N a text.

Tom

Good morning. I'm in the guest room. You feeling okay?

I open Instagram to see I have a few tagged photos from the party last night, including one from Y/N. When did she post this? I tap on the post to see a collection of photos from last night. Y/N and her friends, her parents, Ben, Jane, and the picture Jane took of the two of us. It's the first picture we've taken together since we were kids. We look... happy. Our faces are almost completely squished together. It's almost like the pictures we would take as kids. Always smashing our faces together. The tightness in my belly intensifies. I ignore it.

"Officially one degree hotter ft. my favorite people on the planet"

Favorite people on the planet. I feel a warmth throughout my body. I ignore it. I scroll back to the top of my homepage, noticing that I have a story posted. What did I post on my story last night? I tap on the ring around my profile picture to find a video of Y/N and Ben taking a shot, my laughter filling the background. Clearly, I was drunk.

"We love a shot in this house"

I pause the story as Y/N and Ben finish the shot and laugh with each other. I've never seen her so genuinely happy. I guess I'm usually the one making her mad, so that checks out. It's just so different seeing her so happy while I'm around. Maybe this coexisting thing can actually work.