#oato

It wasn’t weird, it wasn’t unnatural–– but it quite literally happened over night. “This” is just your “new normal.”

You all still hung out, together, mismatched or separately. Nothing has stopped them from asking you to hang out, but there are times where you feel… The Line.

It was Common Sense tingling and telling you that certain occasions were more of a “date-night” rather than friendly get together. And the last thing you wanted to be was a cockblock to your own goddamn friends.

Like tonight, you were tagging along to the late-night-end-of-the-summer beach bar hop bash, with your two pairs of your closest friends. Sam and Ry, short for Ryan. And Liza and K, short for Erik.

Then there’s you, of course.

The three boys were waiting with drinks in hand, while you and Liza took your sweet time climbing the sandy stairs. This was the usual ritual, but you stood alone when you reached the guys. They paired off, easily, naturally, sweetly.

The vibrating radio-centric music drowned out the sounds of the lapping ocean, the conversation you walked into was near unintelligible, and the crowd was excited about something.

God, I wish that were me.

There wasn’t anything wrong with going to this year’s beach bash, as you go to it as a group every year–– it’s just that this time they were holding hands and you were holding a drink. It’s more sour than you’d like.

You were fine coming out “alone,” but who wants to be alone?

You greet one another with warm hugs and Liza immediately dives into a rant about officially moving in with K, and about how he doesn’t wanna mix his laundry with hers–– all those new domestic nuances. 

Sam rolls his eyes and exclaims, “Ry is the same fucking way–– like, it’s just cloth, babe.”

“Easy for you to say when all you wear is black––“ Ry retorts, pushing his boyfriend’s shoulder. 

Everyone starts with a snickering laugh, clinking beer bottles and recanting similar experiences.

Tonight you just don’t feel like it.

Living alone and sleeping alone is one of your specific talents. It’s been nice to have your own fucking bed, your own fucking room, your own fucking space–– all of it to just BE your own fucking self, by your fucking self. You’ve been this way for twenty-odd years now (kind of, you know what i mean). Love and friends are welcome to hang out, but at the end of the day, the place is all yours. And yours alone. That’s what home means to you.

“–– But living together hasn’t been as bad as I thought it would be,” Liza smacks her lips, looking down in short embarrassment. She leans back against K, “There are good things too.”

Sam is quick to point out their PDA, and you take another sip of your drink. You would have spoken up to contribute about your own experiences, once upon a time. But that’s a sore topic you’re not willing to relive on this breezy night.

Instead, you laugh along, crossing your arms while propping your elbow on the bar. You’ll let tonight be as rosy as it can be with no time to dwell. Your drink is near empty, consumed faster than you remember. Someone taps your shoulder.

“Hey.”

You blink dryly, resurfacing. “Hm?”

K is rubbing the side of your arm, those hazel eyes darkened in the low light. His dark brows were raised high, “You good?”

“Yeah, yeah. Of course,” you answer easily. You hold up your drink, making a smug face and down it to his bemusement. You shake the empty bottle, setting it back on the table. “Always good.”

He nods slowly, looking over at the other three still gossiping amongst themselves. You couldn’t hear their conversation, but you can only imagining Sam and Liza were poking at each other by the way that Ry was smiling.

K swings his head back to you, “Wanna dance?”

“Sure.”

And you follow him, aware that, no, he didn’t want to dance. He wanted to talk.

You walk away with him, unnoticed by the others and tracing your finger across a brick wall. He stops, leaning against it and you do too. Looking over him, neat clothes and nervous face, you raise a brow.

“Sorry––“ he starts slowly, scratching the back of his neck.

“For what?” You laugh, scrunching your brows as you nod your head to the muffled music.

“This. It’s weird, right? Us. All of us, dating. That last year we were the ones single and you were––“ he sighs, pulling his lip to the side, “Last year was totally different. And now we’re all here, still together. Together-together.”

“Mhm, it was going to happen sooner or later,” you muse. K has loved Liza since Day One. And you and him have both known it, and what it means to him now. His dreams become reality every second that passes.

“Shut up,” he swats at your arm. You see the curl of his smile behind the embarrassment, “Nah. No. But this must be awkward for you, huh?”

You shrug. “Little bit. I’ll get over it, you guys are still my friends.”

His eyes search yours for the real truth. They were all so worried that them coupling up would ruin something, between themselves and with you. Ha. You told they they were stupid for thinking that. You believe in seizing the opportunities, in taking leaps and following your partner around the world–– in theory, at least.

They confided in you individually and you told them all the same thing. Tailored to their personalities, but in the same conceptual vein. 

“If it works, it works. If it doesn’t, then at least you tried and you don't have to spend another day wondering ‘what if..?’”

And they bought it. Now, that being said, you already knew that they all fucking liked each other so–– push her and push him and push him and him, and things will fall into place.

It’s just that… the new thing is that you’re the one out out of the loop. You used to be the first to know but now you’re last to find out. And that is strange.

You’re not their number 1 anymore. And there’s nothing you can say about it.

“You’re still my best friend, got it?” K leans his shoulder on yours and you rest yourself against him too. 

“Yeah, yeah, I know.”

Today, but not tomorrow.

It’s hard not to be bitter, and it’s horrible that there’s no remedy for it. FOMO is a new-age disease, after all. No science to sort it out yet, no justification to satiate it.

“So…. You talkin’ to anyone? Looking?” He asks too casually for a question he knew you hated. He bumps elbows with you and shake along with it.

“Nope,” your mouth pops at the “p.” 

He raises his brows again, and argh you hate that. There was always someone you were talking to, or someone you’ve been with. But not these days. These days you felt too tired to be someone’s ideal anything. 

“There are some cute guys around, looking at you,” his eyes twinkle a little too brightly for a straight guy with horrible taste. (Facts backed up by Sam, Ry, Liza, AND personal experience) “Plenty of fish, yeah?”

You shake your head, not interested. Sex could come and go, infatuation could come and go–– but you’re kinda tired of the short stuff.  But not exactly ready for a whole-ass relationship either. You don’t need to explain yourself–– you just know you wouldn’t last the night.

“Not in the mood,” you huff.

“Tonight,” he says suggestively, wiggling his shoulders.

You both laugh, you a little bit dryly. You try to direct his attention back to Liza and their budding romance, as the trio finds you guys again. At first they didn’t immediately stand coupled, Ry handing you a drink and Sam going to talk to K. Liza smoothed out her clothes and you all talked about some new plans. It was an honest good time. Ry spilled his drink on Sam, and complained about the laundry again–– Liza got waaaay too drunk and you and K were holding her in your arms while she staggered like Bambi.

It was nice and warm, and a lot like old times. 

I missed that.

You felt yourself smile and let loose–– not thinking of old ex’s or new flings. Just about the friends before you and how safe they made you feel, and how happy you are to see them happy. That’s love, right?

“Oh my god, look!” someone exclaimed, pointing a finger at the sky. You hear a loud clap.

As the night faded and grew colder, fireworks erupted into the sky with a loud crackle. You guys squealed and ran to the top of a sand dune, tripping and tumbling to see the dying summer sights. The fizzing calmed your calls. It’s funny how loud fiery skies filled you with the same awe every time. How it quieted you and made you feel small.

The couples soon held each other, soft embraces with their necks craned upwards. Their eyes twinkled from bursts of lights, smiling at the sharp crackles of sound.

Tonight was the one of many nights they would be able to spend in each other’s arms, so far away and close to you all at once.

This was the line you were cautious about–– you couldn’t talk to them when they were like this, out of courtesy. Out of honoring their moment.

You stood back, watching their excited faces instead of the bursting sky. You felt it. Not jealousy or bitterness, but the awful choke of curiousity and selfishness. The “what if that were me?”

It’s been a while since you’ve had arms wrap over your shoulders and kissed your hair. Enough time has passed for you to forget what that felt like. Too long? What was that like again?

The finale of fireworks struck across the inky, dark sky. You inhaled the smell of chalky smoke, tasting the salt in the air.  Lights and colors fill your eyes, unblinking.

You suck in your cheeks as it quiets and you can hear the ocean again. 

And you let yourself think, I want that again.

So with a new pulse, you went home and did the only logical thing in finding the next Love of Your Life.

You downloaded Tinder.

-

You avoided “serious” dating and being a “serious” anything to anyone, but seeing that “seriousness” in your friends made you wonder if you could be anything like them. If you were ready to open your heart to the possibility of loving and being loved.

Seriously. Sincerely. No bullshit.

This time.

At least, that’s what you told yourself as you messed around setting up a profile on Tinder. Regretfully spending way too long shuffling through old selfies that were engaging and enticing. You sigh as you pick through the lot, frustrated at the mind games that have already started.

It’s tiring.

And that’s probably why you end up cracking a few days later and end up telling Sam and Ryan. It was a short two word text, “Tinder. Help?” And you got a speedy reply from both of them (even when you knew they were most likely sat right next to each other). They were at your place in less than an hour.

Sam applauds your efforts, but is only there for moral support more or less. He’s an ace at the dating game, but has no patience to explain his ways. 

“Typical,” You and Ry hum, as Sam rifles through your pantry instead.

Ryan, quiet as he is, sat with you and looked through the photos you choose. He broke down the psychology of it all; about the aloofness and whatever–– which you understood. You need to try hard, but not look like you are. Effortlessness, funny, chic, digestible, likeable–– 

“Performative.” He says flatly, “But this is fast and simple.”

And you have to agree, looking at your phone in his hands.

You blink as you reflect.

This is so much easier in fiction, in those movies where people go on a million dates in one week and match with the hottest fucking dudes ever. Where the protagonist has the perfect amount of self-confidence to keep her moving forward, endless chances to mess up and and still get the guy… God, it’s so easy on paper. There’s no dignity to lose. But here? In the “real” world, even on an app you could delete at anytime–– to put yourself out there? Mortifying.

But, at least you’re bored enough to try.

So, what the fuck, right?

“Did you tell Liza and K yet?” 

“No, they would definitely try to set me up with someone real,” you laugh, leaning back on the couch. You wriggle your toes and tilt your head away.

Ry leans back with you with a brow raised, “Isn’t that… the point?”

Yeah, like, true. They have lots of friends they’re always trying to peddle your way, which is cool and all but… it’s a lot harder to pick and choose and ghost someone when you have mutual contacts.

He read the look on your face and nodded slowly, “Got it, got it.” He laughed to himself, perceptive and cautious. He extends his thoughts, “But you gotta tell us if you actually go and meet anyone. K would kill us if you didn’t say anything.”

“I won’t get into any trouble,” you squint, looking away from him mischievously.

“Uh-huh,” Ry affirms plainly as he swipes right on a few cute boys. 

-

Your experience with dating apps was limited–– you made a joke account a while ago and never really did much with it. Then you had a more “real” account that you never tried sincerely with. You had real people you dated at the time–– uhm. But now, now that you’re actually on here looking… it is bleak.

It’s a Saturday night and you’re winding down with a glass of wine swiping through your options. People you actually knew showed up, and you swiped that shit away so fast you almost chucked your phone with it. You flipped through people who looked fake for real, some older dudes, and plenty of people with vibes you didn’t like–– the pool is so wide you almost didn’t know where to start. And you could afford to be picky, sure. It’s just, who knew that “too many options” would actually be a problem.

You spend the next few days idling checking and chatting, not getting any viable catches. You felt like you were just peering into small windows, head in and head out. Nothing caught your attention long enough for you to want to look in further.

You even start poking at things you never wanted to acknowledge as real, like the impact of cheesy bios, and deciphering who was who in group pics, and the thrilling amount of dudes holding up fish.

Pretty wack.

You felt yourself grow tired of it again. The adrenaline was waning, burnt to the stump. Good thing you didn’t try too hard. Pfft.

You sleepily swipe away on your phone, too late into the night. You blink hard as you snuggle into your covers, muttering, 

“Just one more.”

Ah.

>>  check out the whole bio here <<

“T, 23. Friendly, neighborhood romantic,” you whisper to yourself. You crack a small smile.

After countless swipes left, and (1) accidental swipe right, you match with a blurry boy–– super sus, I know. You don’t know how it happened tbh–– there’s nothing to “look” at, but your eyes fell on this one. Maybe because you just watched “Far From Home,” and enjoyed this spidey reference. Or you’re just innately drawn to the word “romantic.” Could be either, easily.

“It’s a match!”

Shit. You mumble, your profile photos floating together. You take a second to look through his meager collection. They were all obscure and blurry and not exactly in the artsy way.

You couldn’t decipher much, only that he had fair skin (?), with dark hair and dark eyes, but even that was questionable. 

You’re pretty sure you matched with a bot or some old dude, or worse, a kid. You can hardly see his face in the pictures, blurry or cropped or covered.

Okay...

Is that his real name? Probably not. Is he actually 23? Doubt it. Is this going to go anywhere? Let’s hope not.

But whatever, it’s the first “match” that has seemed interesting in the past few days, solely on your pickiness. And this random bastards only gets you out of dumb luck.

You rub your eyes, and set down your phone, resigning to your stupidity.

You’ll deal with it in the morning.

Good night.

And the gears were set in motion as you slept.

You had a new message on tinder waiting for you, but you didn’t check the app until much later. You go through your Sunday morning routine, only opening your phone after a light breakfast and stretch. 

“Oh god,” you blink as you catch the red notification. You look around the room, preparing yourself for what could be anything. You take a deep breath and open the chat.

T: Hey

Oh. You stare at it, so bare with no personality to pick at. You wonder if you should even reply, but by the grips of boredom, you do.

You: Hey!

You set your phone down, trying to swallow the short thrill. You walk away for a moment. A reply comes within minutes.

And it’s a goddamn mess.

T: Sorry, i’ve never done this before.

Strike one. You suck in your cheeks. While you’re fairly new at this too, you… don’t know how much time you want to invest it in. Here again, you debate replying back–– but he beats you to it.

T: I’m trying to get over my ex

UHM? Strike two, you almost have to laugh. This is just testing your patience. Your jaw wriggles as you see he has more to say…

T: And you look a lot like her.

Damn. Strike three, he’s out. He’s got to know that would put anyone off, right? Why would you even admit that straight out? T? Come on, man.

You: i’m not sure if that’s a compliment or an insult.

T: it’s an apology now, i didn’t know what to say

You: you could have complimented my killer smile or the pic of me with a dog. Anything but that

T: Right, right. I’m such a dickhead. Sorry, it’s nice to meet you though.

You hold your phone away, debating whether or not you should just delete the entire goddamn thing because this was just too stupid–– but it’s Sunday morning and what do you have left to lose. 

You chew on the side of your lip, deciding to entertain “T,” but don’t spare him any soft words. You’d rather get straight to the point.

You: So… you go by “T?” And don’t have any real pics of your face? Are you even real???

T: Yeah, just private

You: kinda defeats the purpose of putting yourself out there though, right? Lol

T: It’s too easy if i put my face out there

You: oh, ha ha ha. So you’re saying you’re too hot to show your face? Love the confidence dude

And this is where you start actually laughing out loud. You wipe away tears at the side of your eyes, cackling at this display of internet confidence. It’s a tiny piece of amusement from a stranger you have 0 feelings for, and you’re not going to be mean to him… but you’ll definitely poke fun to see how far you can get.

Besides, he’s still replying back right? That’s almost hilarious in itself.

T: Hey, confidence is sexy, right?

You: yeah, more in person than online! 😂 (Laughing emoji)

You take a second to scroll back through his photos, and check to see if he has a link to instagram, twitter, anything. But he doesn’t. You try to pull up any evidence you can–– and at the very least, these blurry pics all look like they’re taken of the same person.

Slight build with dark curled hair–– rippable from any ambiguous online “hot boy” mood board though. 

You’re wary.

You spot a picture with his smile, crinkled eye and lifted lip. You could swear he looked familiar… but maybe that’s because you’ve seen that same white boy/model on Pinterest.

Maybe.

T: wanna meet up and see for yourself?

You: maybe if you show me your face first

T: can’t do that quite yet, but I’d love to keep talking to you

You furrow your brows as you read his words. He would be down to meeting up with you upfront, but hesitates to send you a picture beforehand? That’s definitely a red flag, right? Right?

(Yes. Yes it is.)

You pull yourself back and let out a deep sigh. You’re probably the only person he’s talking to, especially with those purposeful (?) blurry pics and cryptic everything. Ugh.

It’s not playing yourself if you know it’s fake right? You can step out of this at anytime.

You: as long as you can hold my attention :) 

T: I’ll try my very best ✌🏼 (peace sign emoji)

–– and with some very, very loose banter…. you end up exchanging numbers. You’ve put the whole Tinder thing on pause for now–– all four days of it. All for one stranger with no tact.

Unknown Number: hey, this is t (smiley face)

You: pfffft, I’m going to call you Blurry Boy. Since your name obviously isn’t T

BB: that’s fine with me :) mind if i call you darling?

You: ew

BB: o come on. It’s cute

You: please tell me you’re actually 23 or i swear to god I’m going to fucking lose it

BB: I swear 🤞🏼 (fingers crossed emoji)

You: ok. Prove it. Send me a pic of you–– you face or whatever

Ok. That’s a leap. He could rip a picture from anywhere but let’s see how fast he could do it. If it takes too long, then he probably did just rip it from the internet.

And if he makes a mistake and actually sends you a clear pic of himself? Well, that could only be seen as a win.

BB: 

But you are ruthless.

You: ok. Send me another one.

And he could stop if he wanted to.

Only, he doesn’t. In a short moment, he sends another picture.

BB:

Same room, same face, same glasses. I guess you could believe him… for now. No matter how shitty the photos have end up....

But he could also be one of those people with folders full of stock photos… you never know.

But putting paranoia aside, you decide to turn off the heat a lil. You grab your coffee and sit on your couch, sliding into a comfy position. You turn on some YouTube videos on your laptop, watching the first few seconds as you lean your cheek against the couch cushions.

Phew.

You: thanks…. sorry I’m so paranoid. But you truly have the worst pictures of yourself put up there. Potato quality.

BB: nah, i know. I get it. Haha it’s alright, a pretty girl like you needs to protect herself

You: oh BOY that doesn’t make me feel any better 😂(laughing emoji)

BB: fuck, sorry. Ugh that is fuckin creepy. Shit. I’m terrible at texting

You: no, no. It’s alright. Actually, great job with taking those photos so fast. Most people would have taken sooooo much longer. You get a few points for not holding back

BB: babe, i told you. I’m gorgeous. I don’t gotta worry about it 😂😂💕 (laughing emojis)

You: right, right blurry boy. Great job with all those fuzzy ass photos.  🙄 (Eye roll emoji) haha are you really looking for someone out here or…?

BB: sort of. I’m testing out the waters and… you’re really pretty

You have to blink back and roll your eye, you’re unable to digest this conversation as real. They’re flowery words given to you, for sure, but your suspicion is much stronger. Your guard will not let down or be appeased by some blurry ass dude calling you “pretty.”

He replies before you have the chance.

BB: i dont wanna get into the messy details but yeah. Company sounds great right about now

You: yeah, i feel that

It’s a real and valid reply, but it’s a terrible one. It’s so hard for someone to reply back to that–– but you’re testing his perseverance. If he finds something to say back, it might just prove one more thing to you. That he might actually be interested, and someone worth talking to.

BB: sorry i lead with my baggage, I’m a fucking mess

You: *a confident fucking mess

BB: thank you 😇 (angel emoji)

You: don’t worry about it, I’ve seen worse

 You laugh darkly to yourself. I’ve been worse.

BB: hahahaha thanks. Ok. But all that aside… real talk now. Can I ask you about the dog in your photo now?

You hate to admit that your lips curled into a smile, as you hastily type back. 

Your coffee was half drank and cold by now. The YouTube video you were supposed to be watching has moved onto part two. 

You eyes are still scanning your text screen, waiting to see those three bouncing dots at the bottom left hand corner. 

He’s not the worst–– and at most, even if this turns out to be fake, this is just your Sunday morning entertainment. Nothing more and nothing less. These are just insignificant texts that will probably lead to a few lost days, or mediocre sex at best.

So, whatever, right?

-

MONDAY MORNING

BB: good morning! ☀️ (sun emoji)

You: well you sure get up early. Good morning 

BB: Haha, I like to start the week as soon as i can. Do you drink coffee or tea in the morning?

You: coffee most days. You?

BB: i drink tea, darling

You: yeah that’s probably better for you haha. Less expensive too.

BB: mhm, definitely cheaper if you come over and i make you a cup

You: wow, the flirting starts the second the sun is up, huh?

BB: what, still too early? 

You: never too early

BB: do you brew the coffee yourself?

You: some mornings. I usually pop into XX Cafe midday if i can.

BB: catch you there? 😂 (laughing emoji) nah, i’ll have to check the place out. I don’t know this area too well.

You: i guess if you can find me! I’m usually in and out pretty fast. Got places to be you know? Hm, did you just move here?

BB: yeah, i got settled in about a week ago

You: staying long?

BB: long enough

You: oh ha ha. Seriously not suspicious at all

BB: yeah I’m in town for a month or two. I’m getting away from work and stress for a minute

You: and you chose here?

BB: quiet enough for me. 😌 (smiley face) and you’re here so that’s a plus

You: relentless

BB: and nothing less.

-

MONDAY EVENING

BB: you haven’t seen that series? You’re crazy

You: whaaat! It’s not my thing. AND i don’t have time for it

BB: it’s a masterpiece, come on! Who doesn’t like laughing? It’s funny! You’ll like it

You: you’re gonna owe me a drink if don’t like it

BB: I’ll gladly buy you one right now if that’s what it takes to get you to watch it

You: ugh, i guess if you recommend it i can tryyyy…

BB: you won’t regret it!

You: ugh you are so annoying. What are you up to right now?

BB: reading emails and talking to you

You: haha what’s so important that you’re reading an email at like 11. Gotta turn on that “do not disturb” dude

BB: I can’t mute the work stuff, unfortunately

You: so if i called you over tonight you wouldn’t be able to? “Because of work?”

BB: you serious? I’m only taking serious offers right now

You: No! It’s monday. Can’t indulge you that early in the week

BB:  what a shame. I’d drop it in a heartbeat for you

You: Nice to know 

BB: I’ve got a feeling that I shouldn’t have told you that (laughing emoji)

You:  😈 (devil emoji)

-

TUESDAY MORNING

BB: good morning!

You: hey! I remembered I had some tea back at my apartment so… just wanted to let you know you had an impact on my day 🙄😊 (eye roll emoji and smiley face emoji)

BB: I could still make a better cup for you 😘 (kissy face emoji)

You: right. What do you have planned today?

BB: hmm, I’m heading out to the gym. Then I might explore the city a bit. Bump into me?

You: well, I don’t know if I could recognize you even if i wanted to

BB: you’ll recognize me

You: haha, okay? Wait, do I know you? –– if this is a prank… 

BB: it’s not! 

You: .. that wouldn’t be cool.

BB: it’s not a prank! There’s just a lot of things I can’t tell you just yet. It’d be a lot easier if we were able to meet up in person.

You: why?

BB: I’m pretty private. It’s really hard for me to just… share certain things with you. But I want to! SO badly! I just can’t send you a whole picture of my face. It’s complicated.

You: Sorry? I don’t get it.

BB: Ahhhh. This is going to sound so bad. I trust you, like as a person. But also I can’t trust you. If you meet me–– you’ll understand why. I’m sorry. 

You: Okay…? And you have to understand that this sounds absolutely batshit to me, right? Like it’s pretty hard to trust you like this. 

BB: yeah I know. I’m sorry. I don’t blame you if you don’t believe me. But honestly, it’s nice to be able to talk to you like this and I hope we can continue to chat. I really do like you.

You: … That is really unfair.

BB: I know! I’m sorry. Give me another day or two–– i have a few things to figure out but, I SWEAR i’m not lying to you. I promise it’ll make sense soon

You: well, if you promise you’re not a creep….

BB: I’m not!

You: and that you’re not using me as a replacement for your ex

BB: I won’t!

You: you are SO lucky i’m patient

BB: and kind. And beautiful. And amazing.

You: you’re pushing it, blurry boy. I just need you to realize how unfair this is.

BB: I do. And I know. I’m sorry.

You: what are you looking for here? With me or with anyone you would have met from the app?

BB: a home away from home

You: yeah i read that in your bio. What does that mean?

BB: I’m looking for someone I can spend time with and trust with my whole heart

You: ha ha

BB: I’m serious. It’s hard to find.

You: you’re a real romantic, that’s for sure

-

TUESDAY EVENING

You: you have a DOG and you didn’t tell me?

BB: what, you’re not interested in the fact that I have younger twin brothers and another 8 years younger than me? ‘Always about Tessa

You: obviously! Send a pic!

BB: 

You: is this from right now?

BB: nah, something I took ages ago. I had to leave her back home with my family.

You: aww, that’s too bad.

BB:  would you come over if she were here?

You: Duh! And I guess you’d have to make me a cup.

BB: sounds lovely. Let’s make it a date

You: ha ha. You miss home?

BB: More than you know. I travel A LOT

You: well, call back often! They would be happy to know you miss them! Loneliness is not a great feeling.

BB: I do, all the time! And definitely not a good feeling. So, it’s really nice to talk to you. Thank you.

You: Sorry, I’m not a very great conversational partner. But still happy to hear that

BB: You are. You’re still here

You: You are too.

BB: You already mean a lot to me

You: Have you been in many relationships? (Or hookups idk)

BB: No, and not really. I’ve only been in a handful of long-term relationships

You: Interesting

BB: What?

You: Just wondering if you are really catching feelings for me

BB: Guilty. You?

You: I don’t think I know enough about you to catch anything. No offense 😬😅(cringe emoji, laughing emoji)

BB: Ha, no. I meant if you’ve been in many relationships?

You: Oh! Sorry. A few of either. Did long-term once. Didn’t work out, obviously–– so here I am. That’s that.

BB: Guess we both have a past to bury

You: Please don’t say anything about “burying yourself into my pussy to feel better”

BB: WHAT. I wasn’t even thinking about that. That’s all you 👀

You: Hey, you’ve been pretty quick all the other times, bud.

BB: If I tell you I want more than just sex, does that make you feel better?

You: It makes me think about the fact that you still want to have sex with me

BB: And I can’t deny that 😊 (smiley blushy face emoji)

-

WEDNESDAY MORNING:

BB: Good morning!

You: Morning! Little later than usual–– sleeping in?

BB: Yeah, since I can afford to. You replied quicker than usual. Were you waiting for me? 😉 (wink emoji)

You: Haha, you wish. I was already on my phone, stud.

BB: Right, right. I can tell you like to play hard to get

You: No I don’t!

BB: 😂 (laughing emoji)

You: I don’t!

BB: Wow, feels great to finally have something to hold over you 

You: I hate you 🙄 (eye roll emoji)

BB: Have a nice day, love 😊🌈(smiley face, rainbow emoji)

-

PING! 

“BB? Who is bb?” Liza asks you on Wednesday evening after seeing a notification pop up on your phone. She grabs it off the sticky cafe table and looks at you with her pretty head tilted.

Oh––

You wiggle your jaw, and raise your brows,

 “No one important.” 

You take your phone back and open the message discreetly. It’s nothing special, you’re sure, but you have to look.

BB: so have you seen the last episode yet????? Hello??

“I didn’t know you were seeing anyone!” She pleads, putting down the drink in her hands. You were at the mall, idly walking and taking a short break. She looks at you pointedly, eyes darting around your face for any spot of weakness, as she quietly whines, “You didn’t tell us anything about this…”

“It’s because I’m not––”  You offer, nodding. You flip your phone upside down as the message lights up again. “–– seeing anyone.”

She gives you a squinted look of total disbelief.

You’ve been messaging “Blurry Boy” nonstop for the past few days. First you talked about nothing, and now you’re asking each other about how your day was going and what you’re doing now, and what you’re doing later. 

You always find something. Your phone is constantly by your side, sound on.

And there’s a layer of real time now, now that you’ve gotten to know him and his schedule better.

You learn that he has his own cute dog name Tessa and that his family fosters dogs back home, and that he’s the oldest, with twin brothers and a younger one he’s been trying desperately to relate to. You find out that his favorite color is black and that he’s in deep shit for stealing his best friend’s fav hoodie. All of this makes him feel like someone you know, someone you could call a friend.

He feels like more than just some guy you’ve talked to waaaay too long from Tinder.

And what’s worse, is that he knows certain things about you too. He knows that you don’t like sleeping in the dark and that you’re borderline addicted to iced coffee. That you like rewatching old romcoms and classic spooky movies… That your back hurts from work and that you have a fucking dentist appointment on Thursday. 

You know a lot more about each other than less. And that’s kinda really fucking weird.

“You’re always smiling at your phone,” Liza says flatly, picking her drink back up to take a long and loud sip. Major side-eye. “‘Fess up.”

“No, I’m not!” You say through your teeth, trying to not smile. But under her stare you melt and crack under pressure.

You keep telling yourself that you’ll stop replying–– that he’s super sus and this isn’t going anywhere. But… you just keep texting him back.

“It’s nothing, seriously.”

“Let me see,” she pouts. “Pleeeease.” She flaps her hands at you, wriggling her fingers.

“No!”

Even though you know that it’s a losing game with her, you try to put up a fight, turning away and holding your phone tightly. You have onlookers now from the squealing, kicking and creaking chairs.

You give in after a minute.

You hand your phone in defeat as you readjust yourselves. You clear your throat.

“Okay, okay. But this is like, not serious at all, okay.” You rationalize as you show her the pictures you had screenshot and saved from him. “I barely know him.”

Barely! You’ve chanted that in your head over and over. Not enough to know if you want to get to know him, or what to drop him. That’s the purgatory you’ve been living in.

Liza is uncharacteristically quiet as she scrolls up and down the chats and flips through the pictures. Her hair covers whatever expression she’s making.

That makes you nervous, and you start babbling.

“Yeah, I mean. I don’t think he’s real or anything–– It’s just for fun and it’s whatever. I don’t even care.”

Yeah, yeah, yeah.

She freezes on a picture of him. The one where you can see a part of his smile and a crinkled eye. She zooms in and pauses again.

?

“Babe?” Her voice is cautious and slow. God. You don’t want to hear what she has to say next with this tone of voice…

“Hm?” You attempt to perk up, hiding the fact that you just gulped with nerves. It feels like you’re holding something sour in your mouth.

I don’t like this...

“So, he seems like a super nice guy and all but…” She speaks gingerly and wide eyed.

“But what?” You feel yourself recoil. 

As much as you talk a big game… it would still hurt to have this illusion shattered. This self-inflicted fantasy. You don’t want her to keep going. 

But you can guess what’s coming next.

...

“I… I think he’s using pictures of Tom Holland.”

…

…

…

Wait…...

What?!

-

A.N: WAH! she’s back!! well, as much as she can be. haha i know i have a million things always running at the same time but... i really will just ride the wave of inspiration as it comes.... that’s all i can do. anyway, hope you like this series! it’s going to be an exploration of starting new relationships in your young adulthood–– and how to handle be “The one” after “The One.” it’ll be a good time.

Thank you guys for reading! Please like, comment and reblog :) You’re all amazing. 

Much Love,

Madmadmilk 💫

“... Who..? How..?” you reach up to scratch your eyebrow, hoping to stir up something to deflect her suggestions.

“You know, Spider-Man? We just watched him in that movie?” Liza starts slowly, then pretends to shoot webs, nearly bumping into her drink. “Thwip-thwip, yeah?”

You begin frown and shake your head, you wave away her hands.

“Yeah, uhm, yeah I know who he is. But there’s no way that’s––“

She gives you a knowing and cautious looking, tilting her head towards you in question. Her lower lip juts out and she pulls out her phone. You can assume she’s looking up pictures of the actor, and soon enough she has some glamour shot of him in a maroon suit.

He had glasses on. The same ones in that goddamn picture he had sent the other day.

That’s not...

You hold your phone search through your chats, scrolling past conversations and laughs, looking for that one picture. Your heads rest together as you swipe up slowly to show her the picture of him that he had sent… the one with the glasses.

There’s no way––

 But you don’t say anything, solely waiting for her confirmation or denial.

“Friendly neighborhood romantic…” Liza mutters softly as she holds both phones closer to herself. “Friendly neighborhood Spider-Man…”

You take it from her and zoom in; sure enough, all those details fall into place.

Fuck.

You blink, comparing the smiles. They look identical.

But?

But Tom Holland is a A-list actor, smiley, pretty, bright and out of reach. You can’t even entertain the idea of meeting a ~celebrity~ through a shitty fucking dating app–– a hook-up one at that. It just doesn’t happen.

And the thought of him wanting to spend time with you?

“No… that’s not right,” you finally manage to say. “Uhm. It can’t be Tom.”

Upon saying that out loud, you catch yourself. You find yourself believing that it could have been him. So, it’s hard to say which part you were denying.

Liza does the critical thinking for you.

“I’m sorry, babe. This guy is lying to you.”

Liza looks at you with her big brown eyes, and you can see a little bit of pity. She nods slowly and turns away, leaving you with two phones in your hands and doubt in your heart. 

“He’s using Tom Holland’s pictures, he’s not telling you the truth, and he’s not… offering you anything else about himself. You know?”

What?

You had gotten so comfortable with the idea of him, of “T.” Of “Blurry Boy,” his own person... and not with the reality of who he could be and what he’s doing to you.

The reality that he’s still really fucking suspicious, a stranger whose life and intentions you don’t actually know.

He’s definitely not Tom Holland, regretfully, and he’s probably not like any of the pictures he’s posted–– blurry, edited, whatever. And the conversations? Maybe it’s all a persona.

You don’t know a single thing about him.

Oh…

It stings more than you thought it would, even when you knew this was already a shaky start.

Liza watches you press your tongue to the side of your cheek, processing this with no argument or fight left. She feels bad having told you outright, but you both know that it’s what you would have wanted. The truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth.

She hugs your shoulders, as you slide her phone back towards her.

You let her hold you as you try to let the shame and shock pass.

Your phone pings softly on the table.

You read the message as it glows on your screen. You scoff as soon as you check it, because who else could it be?

BB: I bet you forgot to watch the episode lol

No.

You forgot you shouldn’t trust him.

-

…

BB: ?

BB: Hello?

BB: Hey, sorry idk if you’re busy or something right now. Just wondering how you were

BB: 👀

BB: Sorry, did I do something to make you mad?

Yes–– no. Yeah, kinda.

You pull down your phone screen, musing over the fact that more messages might appear. He’s sent something new every few hours since your talk with Liza earlier that day.

God, you’re glad you don’t have your read receipts on.

You spend some time lazing around in bed, hair up and out of your face, your pants crumpled and kicked on the floor nearby. You suck in your cheeks as you pick up your phone.

You’ve been cycling through social media all day–– not looking at anything in particular, but definitely avoiding texts from You Know Who.

You know what the messages say, you know that he’s wondering where you are and what you’re doing, but how do you face him after your fatal revelation with Liza? How do you recover? Well, you start by sorting out your buzzing thoughts….

First, you feel fucking embarrassed. There’s a burning, nauseous heat on your face, all because you didn’t realize those pictures were SO obviously fake, and that you were kinda into Whoever He Is.

Second, you feel righteous anger, for being dragged around even though he promised. Ha ha ha. He’s one hundred percent a stranger on the internet, alright. And you’re a fool for letting yourself get strung along.

But him using pictures of a well-known, well-loved, heavily-adored celebrity?? Isn’t that, like, really fucking bold? Embarrassing even?

(Almost as embarrassing as you not noticing this, but you don’t let yourself dwell on that part for too long)

The angel on your shoulder reasons that, “maybe he’s still the same person underneath this facade–– he just looks nothing like what he has posted. You could still like him no matter what he looked like, right?”

While the devil swoops in with some hard facts, laughing in pity, “A guy or person who conceals themselves with lies is not worth keeping at all.”

And in this case, you have to agree with that flaming hot truth. You’re ready to fold those fleeting feelings, shove them in a box, and kick ‘em to the curb along with that inner monologue–– but as you said in the very beginning… if you knew you were being fooled from the start, are you really getting hurt?

The goblin of curiosity pulls at your sleeve and offers this funny sentiment, “Knowing this and talking to him should be fine if you establish the fact that you know that ‘this’ isn’t real.”

And that’s where you are now, staring at your phone, at the multitude of double, triple, quadruple texts that have accumulated through the day. You exhale, and draft up a frail response.

You: hey, sorry. I was busy

His answer comes almost too soon even while you were approaching the later hours of a long day.

BB: Hey!, no, no it’s okay. Sorry if i freaked out, I was just worried

You: what, you missed me?

BB: something like that. You’re definitely the best reason I’m checking my phone nowadays, besides work

You: how sweet

BB: actually, I took your advice. I turned on Do Not Disturb at like 9. It feels like a weight has been lifted off my shoulders

You: that’s great!

BB: well, I know there’s going to be a shit ton to read in the morning, and I’m still stressed about that. But I guess I’ll get used to it. Gotta save time for myself! 😤🙏(praying emoji)

You: definitely

…

BB: hey, are you okay? You seem distant

You: yeah, no. I’m fine. Just a little tired

…

BB: haha, you’re obviously not. Are you still out? Or back home now?

You: I’m back home, but it’s been a long day

BB: oh, okay! You should head to bed then. Talk to you later?

You: yeah, I guess I should

BB: good night! Sleep tight 😊 (blush smile emoji)

You: good night

-

The next day goes by with a few more one-sided text exchanges. “Blurry Boy” was really single-handedly carrying each of those conversations–– and while they’re interesting and you’re still replying, you find it hard to bring yourself to believe any of it. It has no real weight anymore, to your life or in application.

You can’t stop thinking about the fact that he’s LYING to you. Straight to your fucking face.

You watch the conversations in the third person and are almost impressed with the lengths that he goes to keep up with the same story. No loss of momentum, the perfect amount of enthusiasm.

But by now, he must suspect something. The way he asks leading questions in an effort to get you to speak more. 

Unfortunately for him, you can’t help but be cold in response.

What you don’t realize, is that you want him to ask you what was wrong, one more time. You don’t realize that you want an opportunity to be mad. You want him to give you the chance to be. 

So, stop being so fucking nice, blurry boy.

Because you’re not fucking nice at all.

You ignore him for the evening, going out to run some errands so that your hands were actually busy. You silenced your phone as you wound down again for the night, only sparing it a glance at the last second.

There are a few messages waiting for you.

BB: hey, are we okay?

You: we?

BB: yeah, sorry if i’m jumping to conclusions but I’ve felt a little special here. If not, I get it. I’d just like to know

You: you’re definitely something

BB: what’s wrong?

You take a sharp inhale, tucking your hair behind your ears, and sitting up in bed to fully type out your feelings. Your opportunity to be angry is HERE, you can go off and spit words and fight–– 

You: you’re lying to me, right to my face. It was fine at first, but I still can’t wrap my head around why you’re doing this to me. It feels like we’re playing pretend and just ignoring the fact that there is NO TRUST here at all. I don’t know WHO you are and you haven’t given me any idea of who you could be! You’re using fake pictures and a fake name, and while it’s been fun… there’s nothing here. There’s nowhere “we” could go from here. If you want to continue, I’m going to need SOMETHING from you, if you expect anything from me

You drop your phone in your lap with a satisfying thump. You turn away, stretching and rolling your shoulders back in triumph.

Take that, “T.”

You shut your eyes as you imagine this mystery dude opening his phone to read out an arrow you’re shooting straight at this heart. (And it’s not the good kind). You can’t ignore that it hurts your own feelings it’s a little, not in a way that’s personal but…it’s hollowing. You didn’t know him personally, no, not at all, but a shade of it must have been real. There’s a real person in there, somewhere.

You see the message sit alone, untouched. There’s no bouncing dots like usual, no rapid silly response or praise or affection. And that’s annoying. And that’s annoying that that’s annoying.

But you got the last word in, so, what else can you ask for.

You nudge your phone further away, trying not to expect more. Siting in silence for a beat, pinching your cheeks. God, you hate this self-absorbed, attention-seeking behavior–– but you can’t help it.

You let out an exasperated whine, shaking your body to let go of the lingering vibes. You pick up your phone and snuggle back down into bed, ready to sleep after some idle scrolling. 

You’re ready to not have to worry about this thrilling 5-day experience, sure to be embarrassed about it later but… maybe you can make a story out of it. Though, that would only come after a long wink and the accompaniment of alcohol. God, you don’t even want to think about how Liza has probably already told K… Ugh!

PING!

You scramble as you hear the shrill bell tone. Your phone is bouncing in your hands as you half sit-up again. 

A message. 

You want to ignore it–– but who are you kidding.

BB: can i call you?

…

You stare at it. 

Is this an olive branch? Is he reaching out to you to show you that he really wants this? That he cares enough to finally share a fucking piece of himself?

Regardless, the call can only prove that he’s not the guy in the pictures. It’ll only show you that he’s just a guy. If that.

You rake your mind to remember what Tom Holland’s speaking voice sounded like, and immediately kick yourself for even thinking it could actually fucking be him. There’s just no fucking way. 

But let’s see how far off this guy is.

You: only for a second.

Your heart thuds unevenly as you prepare yourself–– only you have no idea what to expect. There’s nothing to go off of.

And within the minute that you sent your message, your phone rings. A blank contact comes up, “Blurry Boy” in white letters. You listen to the shrill ringtone, only picking up before it ends.

“Hey.”

There it is, his voice for the first time. It’s sleepy and thick, croaky even. He doesn’t sound like the squeaky and lively Tom Holland you knew from the silver screen. Though, it’s a stretch to even compare the two at all.

“Hey,” you speak demurely. Cool, calm, collected. And you wait. You want him to bring it up himself.

“What, not excited about our first call?”

Your face warms at his straightforwardness–– briefly crumbling under the pressure. Over text you could easily sort yourself out, but here…. you couldn’t hesitate.

“Well, I’m just glad you don’t sound like a 16 year-old boy.”

He laughs breezily, slightly muffled through the phone.

“Hahaha, I told you. I’m 23.”

“Mhm, well the way your voice cracked there really proves it.”

“Hey, come on now.” He laughs again, and you can hear rustling sheets and the faint chatter of music.

His laugh is quite pleasant, raspy and boyish. Familiar even. You want to imagine that he’s wooed by your maturity and confidence, by the way that a lull settles. But it’s more likely that he’s gathering his thoughts, or collecting his courage.

“This…. doesn’t prove anything,” you start slowly. You purse your lips, nervous ticks coming alive even through the phone.

For the moment, you feel shy, but shove it when you remember that he’s lying.

“I still don’t know who you are––“

“I know. I know, and I’m sorry–– I can’t tell you yet, but I trust you.”

“Yeah, you’ve said something like that before.”

”Uhm, yeah–– I… I wanted to call you to show you that I’m real and I care about you.... and I wanted to hear your voice too.”

There was sincerity there, but you don’t let yourself fall for it.

“But how long will it be before I get to see your real face? –– Without meeting you in a dark alley all alone.”

“Hm?”

“My friends are convinced that … you’re lying to me. In more ways that one. With the profile, with the pictures, the name.”

“Oh–– you told you friends–– uhm... Do you think I’m lying?”

“Maybe not all of it, but It’s a big world out there. And–– I don’t know.”

“But seeing my face would clear it up for you?”

He breathes deeply, and you can hear him clear his throat. The sheets rustle again.

“It’d be a start.”

“Mhm.”

“Make or break it, actually,” you manage to chuckle, offering him that relief. You wonder if physical attraction would be a big factor— like obviously, it would be something but…. you’ve come to know him as a person. So, do you care?

(The answer is yes, you do care, but poetically, you could enjoy his company just like this.)

BUT he is lying; if it’s not about one thing, it’s the other.

“It would definitely make me feeling a little bit better. To know that you’re not a monster under the bed, or some creep–– arguable but still.”

“I told you, I’m hot. You’ve got nothing to worry about,” he laughs with a bit of edge, treading the line.

You laugh too, tension easing. He seems like an easygoing guy, willing to be the butt of a joke with confidence.

“That has a totally different effect, hearing you say that out loud. It’s still weird.”

“Well, what do you think I look like? Based off–– based off what you have.”

“Well, I hardly have anything so…. I don’t know. I want to say ‘tall, dark, and handsome,’ but I’m pretty sure you have… fair skin, brown hair and… nice shoulders? That’s all I got.”

“You’re 3 for 3 so far.”

“You’re just saying that.”

Pause.

“Sorry it’s taking so long.”

“Yeah, you’re weird.”

You’ve already flipped the a million possibilities of who he could be. Nothing would even surprise you anymore. But listening to his soothing voice has calmed you like the way his words always have. The conversation flows over you, and you slide deep into your bed.

You pull the covers up over your shoulders, swimming in your thoughts. It shouldn’t be that hard to reveal himself, should it? You’re both investing time into this–– reckless and blind as it may be. You would need to know eventually. You’re not being unreasonable.

Right?

“If…. If I show you my face, properly, will you keep it a secret?” There’s an anxious tone in his light voice. Every syllable ended with uncertainty, as if he didn’t believe what he was saying.

“If you want…? Why?”

“I just… you just need to. Please?”

“Yeah, uhm, I can do that.”

“Thank you,” and there he lets out an airy sigh of relief. You hear rustling again, as if he fell back on the bed. Ha?

You laugh in excitement at his small promise, you rub your eye with your knuckle as you tease,

“What, are you a celebrity or something?”

…

“How did you know?”

“Hahaha, shut uppp, T. I’m joking–– I just want to match a proper face to the person I’m talking to,” your laugh trails off. You swallow softly, “I have your voice now, so… help me piece it together now, please?”

He stays silent, making you second guess the sincerity that you just showed him. Before you can take it back he starts slow and quiet,

“If I do tell you who I am, would you go on a date with me?”

Your heart squeezes, and your clench your toes. This should be no surprise or celebration, to be honest, this is the point of it all. To find love, or at least the next lay.

“Well, that depends if you’re my type,” coy, coy, play it coy.

“I’m everybody’s type.” His voice rolls, deep, rough, ringing in your ears.

You blink, your cheek lifting in a half pointed smile. You return his tone,

“Ok, well, then I dare you. Show me.”

“I will. Are you free on Friday–– Tomorrow?”

“Already setting up a date? You’re getting waaaay ahead of yourself, dude.”

Pause.

“But yeah, sure, I might be free tomorrow.”

“Great,” he laughs at your switching moods. You feel that heat on your face again, shutting your eyes tight, and he offers a bit more, 

“Meet me by the beach? 9 PM?”

You scoff softly, he’s pushing it. It’s a public space, kind of not. It’ll be cool, breezy, dark… secluded.

But you could easily let someone know where you’re gonna be, and when to expect you back. Fair enough?

“Hmmm, send me a picture of yourself and I’ll let you know if I can make it.”

“Huh?”

“Think of it as insurance. Or a sneak peak,” you laugh softly, turning your cheek to rub you nose against your pillow.

He lets out a long, dry chuckle, taking a deep breath. You can hear him settle and stretch himself out too, “First thing in the morning. And text me back.”

“Sure!”

“Then... I’ll leave you to it. Good night, Y/N. So lovely speaking to you.” His voice is so heavy and warm, so close to your ear.

You’re almost disappointed that he cut the conversation short. A dark cloud of doubt looms over; maybe he needs time to fabricate a believable photo, maybe he’s nervous, maybe he’s getting cold feet.

You stumble on on what to say as you snap yourself back–– the worrying could be saved for tomorrow. For now, you’ll both savor this short, sweet moment. 

“Likewise. Good night, Blurry Boy.” 

You hear him exhale softly, and pull the phone away from your ear. You look at it in your hands, feeling your lips purse. Your face is flushed hot, and your stomach flips in anticipation.

Tomorrow.

-

“No FUCKING way,”

You open your phone first thing in the morning and... low and behold… he actually fucking sent you a picture of Tom Holland. Like he really had the guts to fucking do it. 

Come on, Blurry Boy.

This is not real. No way, no way, no fucking WAY.

You heart falls at the thought of losing this ~friendship~ or whatever it is. You put time into this and now its… kind of falling apart at the seams.

You hold your squished cheeks and spin on your heel, wondering if you should show it to Liza or Ry–– to share the incredulous feelings but… You remember The Promise.

It’s not that… big of a deal, especially since this scenario is fake as fuck, but you’d feel guilty. (damn.)

And also ashamed.

You straight up got fucking catfished.

Like he really had you in the snares.

There’s no way that he’s Tom Holland, and even if he “was” there’s no way that Tom would be in your city. And even though he’s a fucking liar–– keeping this a secret for another day or two… wouldn’t hurt anyone.

God.

You fall back onto your couch, legs hanging over the edge as you stare at the picture. Your thumbs hover over the keyboard, wondering what to say…

The words come quick.

You: what the fuck, are you joking?

Come on, he had to be pulling your leg. Or expecting you to reply like that. You dont’ know what to think, especially when it takes him an hour or two to reply. Uncharacteristic of him.

BB: I’m really not

You: dude. Shut up. You’re not Tom Holland

BB: I am. And I can prove it. Come see me tonight, please

You have to scoff, nearly throwing your phone across the room. UHM, this has sirens and red flags written all over it. Akskdfdjhfad, like??? There aren’t even words to describe this frustration and obvious deceit.

You: Uhm, no no no. Call me right now

You were more than peeved now, honestly. He promised you honesty and some vulnerability, and this is just fucking stupid.

BB: I’m sorry, I really can’t. I’m out for work right now. Meetings all day. But I PROMISE you that I’m not lying.

Ok, funny. That’s exactly what a liar would say.

You don’t bother replying back, not sure what to even say besides, “Fuck you.” But you figure that silence might be more of a sting than any words you could conjure up.

How many tricks would you fall for? This is stupid, this isn’t fair. There’s nothing to redeem here, it’s over.

He can’t just drop a tremendous bombshell, and act like it’s real??

Who the fuck does he think he is?

There’s no way he’s fucking Spider-Man, dude.

There’s just no fucking way.

-

FRIDAY NIGHT, AROUND 6 PM

BB: So… what do you think? Will I see you later? 🤞 (fingers crossed emoji)

You: I can’t believe you’re still messaging me and making jokes. This is cruel, dude

BB: I know it seems crazy, but I’m not lying. I can explain everything! But in person would be the easiest way. I’m still running around the city, but meet me at 9

You: bullshit

BB: My name is Tom Holland. I’m taking a break in this city, and I’m looking for someone to spend time with. But I HAVE to lie low. And trust you and I want to see you and I want to spend time with you

You: You know this is fucking insanity right ?? I can’t trust you. 

BB: I know, I’m sorry. But I’ll answer anything you want if you come see me

You: i don’t know

BB: well, will i see you later tonight?

…

BB: let me know if you can make it. I’ll be there regardless but…

…

BB: Hope you see you there, Y/N.

You put your phone down squinting. You’re down for taking risks and meeting new people and trying new things–– but this whole thing is just wrong. This is too unreal to even entertain. No matter how many times you say it… It won’t sink in.

He says he can’t call, he can’t send anymore pictures, he can’t facetime–– what’s with the grand reveal and security clearance? 

He’s probably gonna eat your fucking face off, that’s why.

You look back at your feet, covered in fuzzy socks. Would you even get out of this blanket burrito to meet A Guy?

(Much less, a guy who definitely wants to wear your skin.)

It’s after classes and work and your social life, you don’t have anything planned for today. Your friends are off on dates with one another doing god knows what, and you’re at home comfy in your holey sweatpants with nothing but the warmth of your laptop and chatter of a TV show you haven’t been paying attention to.

Sigh.

There’s nothing to lose–– you chant over and over. Sometimes, that mentality is what gets you to move forward and try new things. Or gets you into trouble.

Haha.

We all know you’re going to get off your ass and go, but not before checking in with a few people. ‘Cos, you’re not entirely stupid.

“Time for a Tea Party,” you mumble to yourself. You resign to text the more rational of your friends, Liza and Ry. 

Liza has the perfect amount of encouragement and honesty, while Ryan has the best common sense and gives expert.

Sorry, K, you’re too protective and sorry, Sam, you’re way to fucking chaotic.

GC: TEA PARTY

Liza: Ur actually going to MEET HIM??? 😱

Ry: you said you weren’t going to get into trouble

You: is he trouble?? Is this bad??

Ry: YES. he could be anyone. Do you even know what he looks like?

You: … not really. He hasn’t told me much about anything. But, this is like a chance to find out?

Liza: oh my god you should go. Just go and get it over with

Ry: I don’t know… this doesn’t sound like a great idea.

Liza: i guess, one of us could come with Y/N?

You: nah, I’ll be fine alone

Ry: you sure? We could hang out somewhere in the back or something

You: no, it’s okay. I’ll just let you now when I go and drop my location with you

Liza: Phew! This is going to be SO messy. I love it. Can’t wait to hear back from you.

Liza: If we hear back from you 👀 (side eye emoji)

You: Ha ha, this is my actual life you know??

Ry: you only live once

Liza: And pls live long enough to tell your friends what happens

You: so supportive

Liza: love you! Wear your cute undies just in case!

Ry: bring pepper spray

You: Got it

You’re thrown into a frenzy. It’s like 7:45 PM now, and you haven’t showered yet, you haven’t decided what you’re going to wear or how you’re going to get there–– and more importantly, you haven’t fucking texted him back yet. 

And he hasn’t sent you anything else.

Oh, the mind games.

The way he’s making himself sad and vulnerable, but mysterious and coy.

While you get to choose to be the sucker, or the loser.

Lose, lose with great odds.

You turn on the shower, stepping into the warm steam to clear your mind.

It was made after all, you were going to meet him.

-

Yeah, you were going. But you still haven’t said anything. 

You don’t want him to know–– so you could totally just walk the other way if you see something that you don’t like. 

I mean, he knew what you looked like though. Hell, he even compared you to his ex-girlfriend, so… might as well keep the upper-hand and peer from the shadows first.

Or give yourself a head start to run away.

Though, running through sand would definitely be a big fucking obstacle.

You reach the end of the beach, standing atop beaten wooden stairs. The breeze stings your cheek, and it’s a lot colder than you thought it would be.

You’re wearing some dark high-waisted jeans and a simple pair of slip-on sneakers. You didn’t exactly know what “this” was, a date or a revelation or a sacrifice, so, naturally, you didn’t know what to wear.

Haha.

You hug yourself, your thin white billowy top fluttering lightly in the wind. Your fingers clutch at the flowery-embroidered designs on the sleeves, looking a lot like a pure maiden in distress. (Cos you sure as hell are.) You wore light makeup, and your hair was still a bit damp. The salty air was turning it coarse and wavy–– no complaints about that.

You paired this all with the bravest face you could muster

T, Blurry Boy, Tom Holland Imposter dropped this location with you, and figures that it’s on a secluded section of the beach.

You follow well-trodden paths, softly listening to music as you make your way. One earbud in. You should be thinking about a million things right now, but your mind is totally blank.

No expectations, nothing to go off of. 

As you near your destination, you look out at the water. The ocean is dark and looming; you can hear her soft waves crash over your soft music. The moon casts a silvery glow, and you can’t see colors anymore. Just white, gray, and black. Shining and still. 

It feels calm, like you’re watching a silent movie. Like you’re alone.

Only you’re not.

You see “him.”

A lone shape kicking sand with hands in their pockets. Their hood was up and back facing you. 

Great.

You hang back in the distance, weighing your options. You could still leave–– fear fully settling in after you see an actual person where they said they would be. He seems… harmless enough, like a regular guy and–– ah, fuck.

He turns around.

You see him, seeing you.

He pauses, then leans forward to get a better look.

You freeze too, holding your breath.

There’s nowhere left to duck and hide. It’s just you and some piles of fucking sand.

And him.

Oh, god.

The figure raises their hand, fucking waving. Then they start moving towards you, picking their feet up high to trek over the sand.

Fucking hell, you could turn away now but you don’t. You let out a shrill, grating laugh and square up to meet him halfway.

Their shape isn’t getting any clearer–– especially now that they’re facing away from the moon. His face is shadowed and hard to see, but you get close enough to see him.

I––

“Hey!” he excited calls out, catching the shine of his smile…. And…. you’re speechless.

Jaw to the floor, eyes as wide as dinner plates, speechless.

He keeps talking, smiling with his eyes crinkled as he gets very very close to you. You could smell his musky cologne, mixed with ocean spray, and disbelief. His voice is low and coated with tired happiness,

“Oh my god, I’m so glad you came.”

His voice breaks at the end, broken in more ways that you can understand at this moment. You’re just so confused––??

He can’t stop grinning, eyebrows sloping downward as he lets out an airy sigh of relief. He looks up towards the sky for a moment, moonlight catching on his cheeks and nose. Glimmering.

Wait, wait, wait––

When he comes back, he does another thing you can barely wrap you head around–– he hugs you.

He reaches forward, giving you ample time to turn away (but you don’t), and hugs over your shoulders. You felt a human weight on you, the side of his hoodie smushing against your face. 

And… you slowly hug back around his waist. Your left hand awkwardly pats his back as he mumbles,

“Sorry, this is too much. Sorry, God. Thank you.” 

He doesn’t make any motion of moving away despite his words. You can feel his warmth, and slightly desperation in the embrace; something that feels a lot more intimate than you were prepared for.

“Thank you.”

“It… It’s okay,” you murmur back, doused in shock. And shock is better than terror, right?

You pull away, squinting your eyes and making a face. His hands fall off your shoulders, and quickly shove themselves into his pockets. He gives you a moment. A well needed moment. When you open yourself back up, your brain is able to process a few more things.

He’s standing there in some dark denim jeans, clad in converses, which seems like a horrible decision for the beach, a dark green hoodie pulled up over his head, another horrible decision when you’re meeting someone for the first time on a dark beach, and a denim jacket, enviable. His face is softened and friendly, lips pointed in a gracious smile, while his dark eyes twinkle even in the shade.

He senses your uncertainty as you eyes fan over his face. Your jaw was still hanging open too. He pulls his hood down, ruffling soft brown hair in an inadvertent dramatic reveal. Nice.

He scratches behind his ear, still wearing a gleeful expression,

“So… what do you think?”

What do you think???? What do you think about this situation?? His hair??? The entire man in front of you???

Or the fucking fact that he was who he SAID he was???

I can’t believe this is–– this is––

All manners and social cues and sense exit the building as you stammer brainlessly,

“You’re! You’re–– You’re Tom––”

He nods, confidently, you note. And tilts his head, locks falling over,

“I am.”

“You are.” You breath out, maybe smiling now, you’re not sure. You can’t exactly feel your face anymore. 

Your head tilts in the same direction as his, your hair falling over your collar. His eyes follow those fallen strands, before locking back with yours,

“I’m Tom Holland. ‘I told you so,’ and it’s nice to formally meet you.”

Tom Holland.

The brunette bites his lip before smiling neatly as he gets close to your again. No personal space with this guy. He sticks a hand out for you to shake.

You’re looking from the outside in as you take his hand, bobbing softly. You’re trained on the sight of his thumb holding the side of your hand, rubbing softly.

You find your way back to his face.

Exactly like the movies.

The wind blows and he turns to the side, showing you the sharp cut of his jaw, and his eye-shut-tight expression.

Better, actually.

“H… Hey, Tom. Nice to meet you too,” you finally fumble. You shake your head slightly, trying to regain that calm, collected, confidence you practiced so hard on the way here. You want to say more, but you can’t fathom what would come next, 

“Uhm, sorry, I’m… still processing.”

Tom nods, bobbing his whole body, as he takes a step forward. His smile points devilishly, way too easily. His eyebrows twitch before settling, as he lowers his head, hitting you with some sultry jaw-clenching and puppy dog eyes.

“Take your time.”

You laugh, tonguing your cheek. He does too, and you share a starry stare.

The waves crash in the distance, a white noise you were glad to have. A welcome distraction from your loudly beating heart. Something to close the gap of silence––

Only Tom couldn’t handle the lapse of quiet, after all, he gets paid $$$ by the minute. He starts conversationally, knowing exactly how to stir up your already swirling emotions.

Light, teasing, reeling you in, the brilliant boy flashes you a toothy grin and spares not a single ounce of chill,

“So… am I your type?”

Holy fucking fuck shit god damn.

You just got catfished by Tom Holland.

-

A/N: WELL, reader has been caught in the net. What do you think, is “Tom Holland” /our/ type? Adfasjdl, the whole concept of this is so funny lol. Can u imagine seeing the man you saw movies screens… waiting for you in person??? Unfathomable. Anyway, sorry the past two chapters have just been build up,, there’s gonna be a lot of mushy stuff coming up soon. Thanks for your patience!

It’s really hard to find time to write, but yeah taking smaller chunks like this makes it easier for me. Expect updates every 1-2 weeks, usually around Sat-Mon nights. Thanks so much for keeping up!

And you know what to do, please like and comment and reblog! It keeps me going :)

All my love,

Madmadmilk 🥰