Unlike the morning before, today you wake up to an alarm clock with a clear head. The time had read a little over seven in the morning, but time has slipped by so quickly since then. You've eaten a small breakfast, showered, gotten into comfortable plane clothes, and got your travel stuff ready by the door.
The clock reads nine in the morning and your flight takes off at eleven.
Neither of the boys are up yet.
You tap your foot up and down anxiously as you stand in the kitchen, leaning back against the counters. There isn't much to do in this moment; you could call an Uber and leave early, but not saying goodbye feels wrong and it's rude. Instead of thinking too hard about it you pull out your phone, thumb hesitating over Instagram's app.
Last night you had to turn off all notifications because it was way too much, whatever Tom's fans were saying and tagging you in. After a second more of hesitation you click on the app, nervously waiting for everything to load up, and welcomed to hundreds of notifications. Some are follow requests, some are tagged photos and comments.
You click on tagged photos, wanting to avoid reading comments as much as possible.
There is a lot.
There are some clear paparazzi taken ones of them on the sidewalk, walking to the club, the quality immaculate. Others are blurred club photos and you vaguely remember a few people asking to take pictures with Tom in the very beginning of the night, but you had no idea people were taking pictures of the two of you.
From an outsider perspective everything looks different. At the booth you hadn't realized you and Tom sat so close together; shoulders and thighs touching. While dancing both of you have your eyes closed and bodies close together, clearly intimate and comfortable. Then there's one of you and him leaving, his arm slung over your shoulder, and your arm around the small of his back.
Both of you are smiling like giddy children.
Your heart aches.
"You alright?"
"Fuck!" You jump, nearly dropping your phone as you look over to see Tom holding a very sleepy looking Ezra. "Sorry," you rush out, "I didn't mean to swear I just...you scared me."
"'S fine," Tom mutters and lets Ezra sit on the counter while he gets a cup and fills it with juice.
Ezra yawns big and makes grabby hands at you. Putting a smile on you walk over and hold him close, burying your nose into his curls, your hand rubbing up and down his back.
"Morning sweetheart, you sleep okay?" You ask, pulling back.
Tom is right beside you, emotionless as he hands Ezra his drink. The boy nods through his sip, drinking loudly and sloppily before setting it down on the counter beside him.
"Yeah," Ezra says, smacking his lips, "Daddy said we leave."
You hesitate, eyes narrowing as you look over to Tom who clearly didn't mean for Ezra to reiterate that.
"Yes," you nod, "I'm going back to my home to visit my family."
Ezra pauses for a moment, "where they?"
"Alaska, well originally they're from Colorado, but they live in Alaska now," you say even though Ezra probably has no concepts of states in America, "it's very cold there too."
Ezra thinks on this before looking to his father, "we pack my jacket!"
Suddenly it clicks.
It clicks so hard, and you're mad. You're not mad that that Tom told Ezra you're flying away for a bit, but you're livid that he lied to Ezra about going with to avoid a meltdown. You look to Tom who is looking back with a bit of a sheepish look on his face, like a toddler going 'oopsie' and you want to smack him upside the head.
"Why don't you go get that jacket and a few toys? You have to pack up," you say, now having to fall into that lie as well, "while Daddy and I talk about the plane ride, okay?"
With that you help him down from the counter and the boy toddles down the hall and into his room.
"What the fuck is wrong with you?" You whisper yell as you turn back to Tom.
"He needed to know you were leaving, and when he started to get upset I just...told him we'd go with," Tom explains, running a hand through his hair.
You pinch the bridge of your nose, inhaling and exhaling deeply, "you can't try to sugar coat things for him when he doesn't like the idea of something Tom. Plus, it's not you who is leaving, I'm leaving, he's not going to—"
"Yes, he will," Tom cuts on sharply, tone serious, "he is going to miss you so much."
There's more behind that, you can feel it; the 'I'm going to miss you so much' is so crystal clear. Except you don't want to touch that, not with a ten-foot pole, because that means confrontation and talking about this when you don't even know what this is.
You let that sit in silence, both of you helplessly looking at each other as Ezra comes back into the room, stumbling to a stop.
He's holding up his backpack, stuffed with his toys and a jacket which has an arm sticking out of where it's supposed to be zipped up.
"All done. I got it," Ezra announces proudly.
Tom gives him a high five, "lemme go get my bag and then we can start heading out."
"My stuff?" Ezra asks, clearly not convinced he can just bring a jacket and toys.
Tom nods, "I packed it into my back last night bug. I got it. Y/N, can you pack him something to eat in the car?"
"Sure," you say softly.
You end up slicing up fruit and cheese bits—and you still find it funny that Tom hates cheese and Ezra loves it—and put them into a container for the car ride. You get Ezra dressed and ready to go, and once Tom meets you guys by the front door you hesitate to walk out.
"I've got keys, don't worry, you aren't forgetting anything," Tom says, his hand pressing against your back in an almost reassuring manor. You're not entirely sure if it's supposed to be comforting him or you, but you find yourself gathering enough courage to exit the house.
Tom takes your bag and puts it in the trunk of the car; meanwhile, you buckle Ezra into his car seat, tickling him like you always do when you buckle him up. His little legs kick and his eyes crinkle as he giggles hysterically.
You can't help but feel a little lighter knowing you can bring him such happiness so easily, and you kiss his forehead before shutting the door and getting in yourself. When Tom gets in you pointedly look out your window, not really wanting to make this hurt more than it already does.
"Daddy play Moana!" Ezra calls from the backseat.
"Can you get that on?" Tom asks softly.
You nod with an affirmative hum, syncing your phone to the car's Bluetooth before shuffle playing the Moana soundtrack. The happy upbeat music juxtaposes how miserable you feel, and you want nothing more than to turn it off and just sit in silence.
Except Ezra is already singing along with no care in the world and you can't bring yourself to turn it down.
Along the way Ezra asks about things, their signs, you teach him; running on autopilot. Tom hasn't spoken a word and you see his knuckles get whiter and whiter as you get closer to the airport. You fight back the urge to stop the car, pull his hands off the wheel and tell him to relax. Instead you pretend to be too tired to keep signing and promise Ezra to pick it back up later.
With that you let your forehead fall against the cool window, keeping quiet the rest of the ride.
Ezra stops being as animated and stops singing all together at one point, clearly picking up the tension.
It's this sterile, clinical, silent car ride for the rest of the time. You can even feel how anxious Ezra is getting when Tom passes parking and heads straight for the drop off area. Both you and Tom look around, parking as close as possible to the door so you can get out and get in quickly.
You pause and look to Tom for the first time.
He looks back at you and everything unspoken is loud and clear and it makes your chest feel a thousand times heavier.
"Text me when you make it safely, yeah?" Tom asks, voice cracking a bit.
"Yeah, I will," you nod, throat clicking around the lump forming in it.
You hesitantly reach out and let your hand rest over his, squeezing it tight, even if it's against your better judgement. Pulling away quickly you unbuckle and turn around in your seat, looking at Ezra who is very confused.
"I will see you in a few days sweetheart, I promise. Be good for your Daddy for me," you say.
Ezra whines, trying to move in his car seat, "no we go with."
"No Ezra, I'm going alone. You stay here, but you can call me whenever you want," you say, reaching out and using your thumb to brush at the tear running down his flushed cheek.
You turn back around and get of the car, and the second you close the door you hear Ezra start to wail. Your ribs protest as your heart pounds against them, your feet basically running to the trunk to get your bag. Once you sling it over your shoulders and slam the trunk shut you step onto the sidewalk.
Everything tells you to keep walking and just go, but against better judgement you look back. Tom is turned around in his seat, trying to calm down Ezra who is red faced and crying his head off. You quickly go through the doors, letting yourself get lost in the crowd of people, letting them sweep you away from that damn car.
You use the sleeve of your hoodie to wipe at your eyes.
You don't play into the mundane conversation the lady at the check-in desk tries with you. Security doesn't take too long, but you catch a few flashes from the corner of your eye and you pick up your pace a little more. By the time you buy a few snacks for the flight and sit at you gate with a little bit before boarding.
Before you know it, you're pressing the Facetime button with Tom and waiting for a response.
Three rings later you are met with the car ceiling and soft sniffles.
"You okay?" Tom asks, clearly driving.
"Yes," you say but don't believe your words for a second, "I just wanted to make sure you and Ezra are okay."
"Y/N," Ezra's tiny voice hiccups.
Suddenly the camera is being moved and being held by Ezra who, like always, puts his face too close to the camera. His eyes are red, and his nose is all snotty; you just want to hold him close and never let him go.
"I'm so sorry sweetheart," you tell him softly.
"You come home?" Ezra asks.
"Of course, I'm only gone a few days. I'll come back," you say, putting on a smile just for him.
Ezra sniffles again, "you have a jacket?"
You can't help but laugh, genuinely laugh, because that is the sweetest thing you've ever heard.
"Yes, I have a jacket, I'll be nice and warm."
"I love you," Ezra says.
Those three little words once again.
"I love you too, I'll see you when I get back...bye Tom," you add.
"Fly safe," Tom says off camera and you wave before ending the call.
You sit there, a bit numb, and after a while you board the plane, thankful for your window seat. The flight is long, and you sleep most of it away, forcing yourself to just keep your eyes shut and just relax. When you get on your second flight you pay for the Wi-Fi, too rested to even think about sleeping this one off. You fiddle around for a while, pointedly ignoring news sites, and before you know it you're finally in Alaska.
The airport in Juneau isn't lavish by any means, and it doesn't take long for you to navigate through it to arrival pick-up. You spot your dad's car quickly, and by the time you make it your mother is already out of the car and pulling you close.
"You were right," you mutter brokenly, holding her back.
She rocks you back and forth comfortingly, "hush...no need for that, it's going to be alright."
"Hey pumpkin," your father says, and you pull back from your mother to give him a hug too, "...finally having boy troubles after twenty-one years?"
You roll your eyes and playfully shove at him before opening the backdoor to the car and get in. The car ride is calm; the familiar scent of your father's aftershave and your mother's laundry detergent are comforting smells, they are safe. The wait for the ferry isn't too long, nor is the ride to the island.
Familiar trees frame the long winding road up to the house, the driveway is littered with leaves of all different colors; an array of yellows, oranges, and reds. The slight drizzle of rain is starting to speckle the windows, and the rhythmic swipes of the windshield wipers go like clockwork.
You're thankful when the car pulls into the garage, not having to be out in the nasty weather.
"I told your sister to not be...to just be sensitive," your mother says as you get out of the car.
You arch an eyebrow, "he's not my boyfriend. We didn't break up...he's my boss and I'm—that isn't necessary mom."
"You impulse flew home," your father cuts in, "and out of the both of you, you've always been able to take care of these type of things yourself. The fact you flew home says a lot Y/N."
You open your mouth and close it a few times, trying and failing to find something to say to that. In all seriousness your father is right, and once you come to terms with that you shrug in return. The three of you walk upstairs to the main level of the house, and you hear noise coming from the media room.
Navigating trough familiar halls and arches you lean on the door frame to the media room.
"Y/N, stop lurking," your sister, Josephine says, craning her neck to look back at you.
A grin crosses your face as you walk over, bending down to accommodate her sitting position, the eighteen-year-old hugging you tight. You put a smacking kiss on her cheek, making the girl squirm and push you off.
"You're still gross," Josephine chuckles.
You shrug, "some things never change you nerd," and point to her video game which is currently paused.
"Yeah, yeah, good one," she says, pausing before asking, "you alright?"
You tense and swallow hard, "I don't know yet. I...think I am?"
Josephine pats your leg, "Mom made your room up, go put your stuff down and come hang out with me."
Nodding you turn on your heel, walking away from your sister and to the main staircase, ascending it quickly. You pause noting the new wheelchair lift, this model newer and probably faster than the one previous. Continuing upstairs you make it to your room, collapsing face first onto your bed, feeling nostalgic when the small lump in the center of the mattress still pokes out an makes you lay lopsided.
It's funny...
You're with your parents and sister, in a house you lived in more than half your life, and yet your home still feels 4,500 miles away back in London.