Tom Holland Long Story

Late, Again

1:15. With each minute your heart raced faster, as your little legs run through the busy streets of Atlanta. "Why did I get an apartment so far from campus?" You mentally scold yourself. "It's not that far. I can walk!" The tone in your head mocking you. Crossing the street, you check both ways. Apparently not well enough. A black SUV knocks into your knees, the impact thankfully not knocking you down. Your hands slam on the hot hood of the car. Time stood still, as brisk fall wind whips your hair messily around your face. Your wide eyes boring into a pair of brown ones. Cars in the street around you honk, pulling you into reality. "Shit," You breathe out, before taking off again. "Wait!" The brown haired boy yells, hot on your trail. His blonde haired, blue eyed friend jumps from the passenger seat, to the drivers following the pair of you. "Are you alright?" His accent thick, and his hand reaches for yours. "I'm fine, just late for class." The pain in your knee causes you to hobble, but you try and keep a fast pace. "Well, let us drive you! You should really have that checked out. Did you want to exchange numbers, for insurance purposes?" This guy wasn't going away. "I'm fine, thanks." You turn and shake his hand curtly, before trying to run off again. He finally gave up, stopping in his tracks. The black SUV pulls up on the curb beside him. "You didn't get her number, did you?" His blue eyes full of disappointment for his friend. "No. Shut up, ya div." The brown haired boy pouts, lifting himself into the passenger seat. The loud bang of the doors announce your arrival into the class. Annoyed glances from your classmates are shot in your direction. "Nice of you to finally join us, Miss. Y/L/N." Your teachers tone dripping with distain. "Sorry, won't happen again." You pant, taking a seat in the back row. Ms. Patrick, your psychology professor, turns back to the board and continues with the lesson. You could hardly pay attention with a combination of the throbbing ache in your knee, and the thoughts racing of the guy that hit you. It was so fast you hardly got a good look at him, but his accent was intoxicating. "I wonder what he was doing here so far from home." You think to yourself, copying the notes from the PowerPoint.

With you being so tardy, the class was a lot shorter than you anticipated. You hobble down the stairs to talk to your teacher and mentor. "I'm really sorry, Ms. Patrick." A grimace spreads across your face. "What was it this time, Y/N?" She didn't look up at you, clearly over the excuses, she was shuffling papers. "Well, I was just running behind, and then I was literally run into." She looked up at you, shocked. "...with a car." You continue. "What? Are you ok?" Oh, now she's concerned. "Yeah, it just hit my knee pretty good." The pair of you looking down at the jeans over your banged up knee. "You should get that checked out. And in the mean time, could you try maybe applying yourself." She handed you a quiz, red marks splotched across it like a murder scene. "I know you know the material. I just don't know where your head is sometimes!" Even she knew the potential you had, the way you cared for people, knew the brain inside and out. You nod, looking down at the paper, you walk away. It takes all your strength to push through the heavy doors of the building. A bright light nearly blinding you, and cold wind burning your cheeks. "Hey!" You hear a familiar voice yell at you. The back SUV from before parked by the curb, and the brown haired Englishman leaning against it. "Oh god." You groan internally as he ran towards you. "Look, I'm fine, ok? It'll probably just bruise." "No," he laughed slightly, looking at the ground. "Well, I am glad you're ok. It's just..." The Guy paused, worried about your reaction. You give him an annoyed, 'go on' look. "I was wondering if I could get your number." A deep sigh of relief escaped his lips, happy to get that off his chest. "Why?" You laugh, knowing you were in an old hoodie and light-wash jeans. What could he possibly have seen in you that he liked? "I dunno," he shrugged. What a boost of confidence. "You're so pretty, and your eyes just kind of pier—" His voice training off, staring in the very eyes He was talking about. You bite your lip, and giggle a little. The feeling of awkward rising in your chest. "Hello... Earth to Brit-boy!" Your fingers waving in front of him. "Sorry!" He quite literally snaps from his trance. Making this boy you've just met flustered kinda makes you happy. "So, um your number?" He gave you a pleading smile. "Ok," you roll your eyes, and retrieve your phone from your pocket. "So, are you doing anything later?" He looks happily down at his phone after exchanging numbers. This boy was impatient! "Um, I'm in class for a little while longer, and then I have work to do. But a girl's gotta eat, right?" You shrug, your Southern accent getting thicker by the second. "Yeah!" He laughed at your remark. "Text me your address and I'll pick you up at 7." With that, he made his way back to the car, slapping a high-five in the blonde boy's hand. A laugh radiating from your belly. You look down at your phone screen. "Tom," repeating the contact out loud, you made your way to your next class.