The Only Exception - {TOM HOLLAND}

F O U R T E E N

"Yeah, you got it," Josephine frowns.

"That doesn't mean I don't love you," you add in, "because I do. A lot. Even if you're an annoying little shit."

"That was almost sweet," your mother says tiredly.

Josephine and you cackle at that, unable to mock seriousness anymore. The ice breaks and the four of you sit on the couch, judging the apartments these two dudes on House Hunters are looking at in Florida.

Everyone forgets for a moment; forgets that Tom and Ezra are upstairs, forgets that Josephine's legs don't work, forgets that you haven't been home for two years. It feels like how it used to be, and it is so bittersweet.

By the time you finish one more episode you find yourself in the kitchen with your mother helping her with breakfast. Josephine is settled at the table doing some homework she put off, meanwhile your father takes breakfast on the go as he heads into town to do some errands. It isn't long after that, that you hear footsteps from the stairs.

You glance over to the archway that connects the hall to the kitchen, watching as Tom and Ezra walk in.

Both boys look groggy and their hair is a wild mess. You pause on your task, wiping your hands on a kitchen towel to get whatever was on them off. Ezra wordlessly makes grabby hands at you, and like falling into an old routine you take him from Tom, letting the sleepy boy cuddle close. His chubby little cheek rests on your shoulder, his free hand picking at your sweater.

You press a kiss to Ezra's forehead before looking to Tom, "hey."

Tom's lip press into a thin line, only giving a nod, and you can tell reality has caught up to him.

"I hope you like French toast, we needed to use up some of our bread," your mother says, turning around to look at the three of you.

"Sounds delicious," Tom says fondly, "is there anything I can do to help?"

"I need the fruit rinsed, dried, and cut up?" Your mother offers, pointing to the bowl of unprepped fruit.

Without missing a beat Tom goes to do that task, brushing by you but not without contact, his arm grazing yours. It makes a heat spread through you that you don't know what to do with. Is it fear? Excitement? Nervousness? Content?

"Well, aren't you a cutie."

You blink out of your thoughts and watch as your mother steps up in front of you, smiling at Ezra who doesn't say anything back. Instead he bashfully hides his face into your neck. With a huff you run a hand up and down his back.

"What do you say?" You prompt.

Ezra yawns a quick, "thank you."

Your mother meets your eyes and you can see the gears grinding within her gaze. Instead of dwelling on it you round the island counter and set Ezra down on the chair beside Josephine. Your sister pauses her homework and looks over with a goofy look.

"Well look who's up," she says, holding out her hand for a high five.

Ezra hesitates for a moment before smacking her hand.

"Do you want to draw?" You ask.

"Yes!" Ezra nods, sitting on his legs so he's a bit taller.

Smiling you walk to the nearby office, grabbing some printer paper and a few pens and pencils, returning quickly. Ezra happily starts to scribble on the pages with the purple pen he found, little tongue sticking out in concentration. With the toddler busy you return to the kitchen and finish up preparing the batter for the French toast.