Art Imitates Life

Chapter 4

Back in London, Tom was trying his best to settle into normal life, but his mind kept drifting back to Australia—to the salty breeze, the late-night painting sessions, and, of course, the star-lit night on the yacht with Chris. His phone buzzed constantly now, lighting up with texts that brought a grin to his face every time. Chris would send him photos of the beach, jokes about his latest workouts, or random thoughts he'd had in the middle of the night. It felt strangely intimate, as if they were in on some shared secret.

Today, however, he was trying to focus on class. He walked out of his science lecture, catching up with Zendaya and Harrison, his two closest friends, who had been bombarding him with questions since he got back. They were practically buzzing with curiosity, eyes shining with excitement as they cornered him outside the lecture hall.

"Come on, Holland," Zendaya demanded, folding her arms and giving him a look. "Details. We've waited long enough. What exactly went down in Australia?"

Harrison grinned, leaning in. "Yeah, mate. All this time, and you still haven't told us what happened with Hemsworth. We need the full story."

Tom laughed, rubbing the back of his neck as he tried to dodge their expectant stares. "It was... it was amazing," he admitted, feeling a smile spread across his face. "We went out for coffee, then he invited me to this fancy dinner on a yacht. We just talked for hours... about everything."

Zendaya raised her eyebrows, clearly delighted. "On a yacht? You didn't tell me that part! You are living the dream, Tom."

Tom's cheeks flushed, and he shrugged, trying to play it cool. "Yeah, well, he's just... he's really nice. And he even gave me this art set. Like, top of the line, all fancy and leather-bound. The guy went all out."

Harrison gave him a knowing look. "Sounds like someone's smitten," he teased, nudging Tom's shoulder.

"Maybe a little," Tom admitted, unable to stop himself from smiling. "We've been texting nonstop since I got back. It's... I don't know. It just feels different."

Zendaya and Harrison exchanged a glance, both grinning like proud parents. "Look at you, Holland," Zendaya said, nudging him playfully. "Just don't overthink it, okay? He's obviously interested, and if you're happy, that's what matters."

Tom's heart warmed at her words, and he felt a rush of gratitude for his friends. "Thanks, guys. I... I think I really needed to hear that."

After catching up a bit more, they went their separate ways, and Tom headed home. He tossed his bag onto his bed, his mind drifting as he remembered Chris's last text from the night before.

Chris Hemsworth: "Don't forget, art genius—I expect a painting update tomorrow."

He grinned, sitting on the edge of his bed and picking up his phone, intending to send a quick response. But just as he unlocked it, a FaceTime request from Chris popped up on the screen. Tom blinked, his heart leaping as he quickly hit Accept.

The screen lit up with Chris's face, and Tom's brain did a double-take. Chris was lounging on his bed, shirtless, with his hair slightly damp, as if he'd just come out of the shower. His tanned skin gleamed in the soft light, and his easy grin was laced with that playful charm that always threw Tom off guard.

"Tom! Finally got you in real time," Chris said, his voice warm and casual, as if he had no idea how much Tom's heart was racing.

"Oh—uh, yeah! I mean, hi!" Tom stammered, his cheeks reddening as he tried to keep his eyes on Chris's face rather than... well, anywhere else. "Did I, uh, catch you at a bad time?"

Chris laughed, running a hand through his damp hair. "Nah, just got out of the shower. Figured I'd check in on my favorite artist." He tilted his head, his smile softening. "How's London treating you?"

Tom's brain scrambled for words as he fought to keep his composure. "Good! It's good. A bit rainy, you know... typical London." He laughed, trying to sound casual but feeling the blush creeping up his neck. "How's... Australia?"

Chris chuckled, clearly noticing Tom's flustered reaction, but he didn't comment on it. "Oh, same old, mate. Just a lot less exciting now that you're gone."

Tom's heart skipped a beat at the easy admission. He laughed, nervously tucking a strand of hair behind his ear. "Well, I can't say London's half as exciting without yachts and... you."

They fell into a comfortable rhythm, talking about Tom's classes, Chris's latest projects, and the little things that made up their everyday lives. Tom found himself opening up about his art, sharing his current projects and even flipping the camera to show some of the sketches he'd been working on. Chris listened intently, offering encouraging words and genuine interest that made Tom's heart ache with appreciation.

As the hours ticked by, the conversation took on a quieter, more intimate tone. Chris was lying on his side now, propping his head up with one arm as he listened, a soft smile on his face. They talked about their favorite movies, the books that changed their lives, and even their hidden fears—Tom's worries about being good enough as an artist, and Chris's own concerns about balancing fame and personal life.

At some point, Tom felt his eyes growing heavy, lulled by the low murmur of Chris's voice. He blinked, struggling to stay awake, but every word made him feel warmer, more relaxed.

"Hey, Tom," Chris's voice came, gentle and soft. "Getting tired?"

Tom managed a sleepy smile, nodding. "A little, yeah. Didn't realize we'd been talking this long..."

Chris's smile widened. "Guess that means we've got a lot to say, huh?"

Tom's heart skipped at the thought. "Yeah," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. "Feels like I could talk to you forever."

There was a soft silence, filled only by the gentle rustle of Chris shifting on the bed. "Get some sleep, then," Chris said, his voice a gentle command. "But... leave the call on? I'll stay with you."

Tom's heart melted at the offer. He felt a little silly, like a teenager with a crush, but he didn't care. "Yeah, okay," he whispered, adjusting his phone so he could lie back on his bed, settling into the pillows.

They stayed like that, both silent, but connected. Tom's eyes fluttered shut, his breathing evening out as sleep crept in. The last thing he remembered was the soft sound of Chris's voice murmuring a quiet, "Goodnight, Tom," just before he drifted off.

When he woke up in the early morning light, he blinked at his phone screen, still propped beside him. Chris was there, asleep, his face peaceful in the dim glow of the room. Tom felt his heart swell, a warmth spreading through him as he watched him for a moment, taking in the quiet, unguarded expression.

With a sleepy smile, he whispered, "Good morning, Chris," before ending the call, leaving the connection lingering between them, even from thousands of miles away.