#blyth

Tom shrugged, leaning closer. “I think we look like we’re plotting something.”

“Oh good. I’d love to trend on Twitter for ‘Sinister BAFTA Duo.’”

“Actually,” he said, flicking his eyes to the camera crew that was slowly circling tables, “I’d bet money we’ll be trending for something.”

He wasn’t wrong.

Because somewhere in the mix of leaning too close, the light catching on his smile, and my hand brushing his wrist as I reached for my drink people noticed.

The internet noticed.

I found out the next morning.

My phone buzzed non-stop. At first I assumed I’d forgotten to silence a group chat, but no it was Twitter. And TikTok. And Instagram. My mentions were full of screenshots, slowed-down videos, heart-eyed emojis, and phrases like:

THE EYE CONTACT. I REPEAT, THE EYE CONTACT.

Y/N and Tom Blyth were flirting so hard I blushed through my screen.

BAFTA’s hottest couple, don’t @ me.

The most viral video was a clip of us laughing about something I’d thrown my head back, and Tom had leaned in, eyes fixed on me like I was made of gold.

I stared at my phone in disbelief. Then, it buzzed again.

Tom Blyth: Got your number from Alice (hope that’s alright!) I think the internet might’ve fallen in love with us last night… Want to meet up and give them something real to talk about?

It took me three whole minutes to respond, because I was frozen. Not out of nerves, but… excitement. He got it. He saw the humour, the charm, and still he asked.

Y/N: I’m free Thursday. Pick a place that doesn’t serve amuse-bouches.

Tom: Done. 7pm. No amuse-bouches. Just you and me.

Thursday came, and with it, the kind of butterflies I hadn’t felt in ages.

I wore something understated but soft, a dusty blue dress that felt like me, paired with my favourite boots. Tom met me outside a quiet little place tucked away in Soho, wearing a navy coat and that same half-smile I was quickly becoming obsessed with.

“You look…” he paused, giving me a once-over, “like you walked off a French film set.”

“And you look like you stole someone’s heart and didn’t apologise for it.”

He smirked. “Guilty.”

Inside, it was dim and warm, the kind of place where nobody would bother us. Over wine and a shared plate of pasta because he insisted everything tasted better shared we talked. And I don’t mean small talk. I mean real talk.

He asked about my childhood. I asked about his. He confessed he nearly quit acting once. I told him I’d secretly auditioned for a role in The Hunger Games spinoff just to see what the hype was about.

He laughed so hard he nearly choked on a breadstick.

Halfway through dessert, he touched my hand.

“Can I be honest?” he asked.

I nodded.

“That night at the BAFTAs I’ve never clicked with someone so fast. I thought maybe it was just the setting, but now? Sitting here? I’m sort of terrified how much I want to see where this goes.”

I squeezed his hand back. “You and me both.”

The paparazzi caught us leaving, but for once, I didn’t mind.

Because the edits were already being made. The headlines were already being drafted. But this time, we got to write the next part.