FOR LONDON [1: TOM HOLLAND]

CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE

I love her, he thinks. Thinks it all the time, in fact. A muted whisper in the background of everything, hushed words that should have practically lost their meaning by now, with how much they cross his mind. But they haven't, they won't. Because although feelings of everything being new have passed them, everything being exciting still remains. It turns out that the two words are not synonymous with one another, like so many suspect - like romance books will have you believe.

Waking up beside Maria is familiar now, watching her smile, laugh, hearing her hum beneath her breath, and catching her accidentally adding sugar to his coffee, is familiar in a way that he can't describe. But the realisation that comes along with it, that this is his life now is exciting; settling into his bones, and staying there seemingly for the long-haul.

It's there right now, as she blends into the crowded streets of New York that she knows so well, not unlike how she did when they walked the streets of London together for hours. The only thing that put her out of place in London was her accent; bolder and sharper than those that surrounded her. Gorgeous, nonetheless.

She's walking in front of him, facing him, just like she did back then. Feet dancing around one another to keep her from tripping up or bumping into anything as she moves backwards. The soft-soles of her shoes make gentle hushing noises against the sidewalk as they travel; so that she can see him; the way his expression changes; the way he gestures with his hands without seeming to realise that he's doing so; the way he's always always sparing glances over her shoulder, just because.

Because he's always thinking of her; always making sure she's safe; always looking out for her, no matter what.

(Doing things just because has become a 'thing' for the two of them; a motto; a mantra. However you'd like to describe it, it's theirs, and it works. So they're keeping it.)

She's grinning at him, so much that her cheeks are aching with it, stronger - somehow - than the ache she felt for him before that kiss they shared in the doorway of her apartment; before he told her that he loved her over too-hot, too-sweet drinks in the diner that has held almost all of their most important conversations (so far).

And he can't help but grin back; not when she's looking at him like this; open, and bright, and beautiful, the way she did when they met on the other side of the ocean; leaning against the railings of a bridge and watching the sunset over a skyline that was familiar for him, and new for her.

"Hey," He utters, then clears his throat and tries again; he doesn't mean to interrupt her stream of thought, but he can't not. Can't stop himself from speaking now, much like he couldn't when he first told her that he loved her. "Hey Maria," He adds, louder.

She tilts her head at him, and then her gaze falls to his outstretched hand which she takes without question; pressing her palm to his, stealing a little of his warmth.

"Yeah?" She asks.

And here's the thing; he doesn't know what he wants to say. Never had anything specific in mind, really. Because he has so many things that he wants to say to her; declarations he wants to yell to everyone, and then others that he longs to whisper, hushed, to only Maria; these are rivalled by the thought he has that nothing he'll ever say will be enough for her. For this.

For them, and how much everything that they share mean to him.

So he doesn't say anything at all. Instead he ducks his head, and shakes it at himself --

She loves me, he thinks. Constantly. She shows it in so many ways, and probably doesn't realise it. Like the way she has a smile that she only uses for Tom; the one that he's so ridiculously fond of that it will always always make his heart skip a beat, whether it's on the worn sofa in her apartment, or at their table in the diner across the street from her place, or even that first time they met on the other side of the ocean, when neither of them had any idea of what was waiting for them.

Maria settles in against him, fitting herself to the curve of his side once more and pushing herself a little closer just because.

He thinks of the plane tickets burning a hole in his back pocket; the ones he's yet to give her, that hold the hopes of retracing the steps they first took together, and watching the sun rise in the place where they once watched it set.

Tom gives himself a moment; letting everything wash over him, and finally lands on feelings of adoration, which quickly become admiration.

Of the girl beside him first and foremost; for the relationship the two of them have formed; and finally – unexpectedly - for the city they found each other in. At the end of the day, the two of them wouldn't be together, if not for London.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: thank you so much for supporting me writing this, and for loving the little cast of characters I've created!! I honestly struggled with this final chapter, but I wanted something to conclude it nicely, without it being the whole 'then they got married and had 98765 kids' deal

anyways, I hope it did them justice !! I've loved writing these kids SO much over the past few months, but I'm also glad to have finished their story before the end of the year (just about - at 11:56pm!)

so happy new year !!