the camera flickers on, and the two of you are already laughing. you’re sitting cross-legged on tom’s couch, a bowl of popcorn between you, hoodie sleeves pulled over your hands. tom leans back beside you, hair messy, voice low with a trace of sleep.

“we’re live, mate,” he mutters, eyes flicking to the chat, then to you. “say hi before they all start thinking i kidnapped you or something.”

you laugh, nudging him. “you did make me come over here, holland.”

“oh yeah, tragic,” he deadpans. “you had to sit in my fancy living room and eat all my popcorn.”

the chat floods with heart emojis and comments—

‘they look like a couple already’ ‘the tension is insane’ ‘tom’s so whipped omg’

you roll your eyes, reading them aloud and laughing. “see? they think you’re in love with me.”

he freezes for half a second — just long enough for his gaze to meet yours before he forces a laugh. “yeah, internet’s got jokes tonight.”

but his voice cracks just enough that you miss the truth sitting right behind it.