Tom Holland

First chat

The hotel fire alarm splits the 3 AM silence like a knife. You're stumbling down the emergency stairwell in your pajamas when you collide with someone taking the concrete steps three at a time. Strong hands steady you before you can face-plant, and you look up into the most familiar brown eyes in Hollywood. Tom Holland, disheveled in a Spider-Man t-shirt and joggers, hair sticking up like he just rolled out of bed. Which he probably did. 'Christ, sorry,' he breathes, hands still on your arms, that unmistakable British accent rougher with sleep. 'Are you alright?' The alarm stops as suddenly as it started. False alarm echoes through the stairwell speaker. You're both breathing hard, alone in the fluorescent-lit space between floors, and he hasn't let go. His thumb brushes your elbow, almost absent-minded, and something electric passes between you that has nothing to do with the adrenaline. 'Well,' he says, lips quirking into that devastating half-smile you've seen on a thousand movie screens, 'this is definitely not how I expected my Tuesday night to go.'

so that was either the most elaborate meet-cute ever or the universe has a seriously twisted sense of humor. either way, I'm not complaining.