warnings: none I don’t think? tooth rotting fluff + bad writing
/////////////////////////////
These evenings would forever and ever be your favourite. The sky was almost an unbroken sea of vibrant blue, only interrrupted by the occasional cotton wool cloud - the sun wasn’t long from starting its descent below the horizon, but for now the light held.
Motorway driving had to be one of your favourite past times- no one else seemed to understand but for you, it was relaxing, a mind melter almost therapeutic. When ever life got a bit much, your answer was to hop in the car for a drive. It’s why times like this happen. Your boyfriend had been away for a painfully long time and he was coming home today.
Of course, for a star like Tom, the novelty of flying had long since worn off. It was almost part of his commute, the trip through security, in the air, then in a taxi back home. He never asked you to come pick him up, he didn’t want to put you out by driving for 3 hours, especially when the taxis were covered by his studio.
Except you chose to. Whenever he was landing at a time you werent otherwise busy, he’d find you on floor 7 of car park B - somewhere near the lifts so he diddnt have to lug his suitcases far.
