If Tom Hardy were your boyfriend, he would gift you a rope bracelet early on in the relationship. When you ask what it is, he would respond intensely, “This could save your life.”
If Tom Hardy were your boyfriend, you would live in a lovely but sparsely decorated London flat. He would say “Fuckin’ mess, innit?” every time you walked in, regardless of the actual state of it.
If Tom Hardy were your boyfriend, you would walk into the bathroom only to discover him trying on the new lipstick you bought. When he noticed your presence, he would shrug, give you a knowing smile, and say, “Not my colour.” You would hear the “u” in “colour.”
If Tom Hardy were your boyfriend, he would never like any of your Facebook posts. Instead, he would go back through every single photo of you dating all the way back to 2003 and comment, “LEGEND” (or occasionally, “fckn LEGEND”).
If Tom Hardy were your boyfriend, he would inject quotes mid-conversation, such as, “he thinks he has knowledge, when he has not, while I, having no knowledge, do not think I have.” When you ask where the hell that came from, he would respond, “Socrates! It’s from Apologia!” He would then recite the whole thing from memory.
If Tom Hardy were your boyfriend, you would quickly accept there’s the way everyone else spells something, and the way Tommy spells something.
If Tom Hardy were your boyfriend, he would text you to let you know that his phone wasn’t working.
If Tom Hardy were your boyfriend, he would offhandedly suggest that there should be more movies about women cops, or women gangsters, or women soldiers, and then look at you like he just came up with the most revolutionary idea in history. When you hold his hand and tell him how great his ideas are, he would say, “It’s just obvious, innit?”
If Tom Hardy were your boyfriend, he would call particular male friends of yours “dear” and “darling,” and you would watch the corners of his beautiful mouth turn up at mention of them.
If Tom Hardy were your boyfriend, he would have a walk-in closet just for sweatpants, but would own no sweatshirts.
If Tom Hardy were your boyfriend, you would discover that he owned multiple baby carriers, even if there was never a baby in the house. “I need another one, anyway,” he would tell you. “It rained on that one.”
If Tom Hardy were your boyfriend, “fucking men” would be his response to any complaint you have about any man.
If Tom Hardy were your boyfriend, he would leave food out by the trashcans for the stray cats, no matter how many times you told him not to. “These are children of the Universe,” he would tell you. And you couldn’t argue with that.
If Tom Hardy were your boyfriend, he would leave voicemails that start out with some purpose, but within 45 seconds meander off onto some grander existential examination on the subject of the industry, or the garbage construct that is masculinity, or some fucking guy in craft services who was irritating him. Within two minutes he would realize he’s still leaving a voicemail and spend the last thirty seconds apologizing, ending with “you know how it is.”
If Tom Hardy were your boyfriend, your mom would timidly ask about the tattoo poking out from under his T-shirt on his left arm. He would respond by turning around and taking off his shirt, in short order getting bored and checking his phone while everyone in the room gets a good, long look at his back tattoos. When your bewildered mother inquires as to their meaning, he says, “It’s symbolic, you know?”
If Tom Hardy were your boyfriend, he would lament how terrible he is at knitting, as he keeps dropping stitches. You would lovingly teach him to crochet while binge-watching House of Cards (the British version). In a few weeks, he would send you a selfie of him wearing the scarf he made, with the message, “LEGEND.”
If Tom Hardy were your boyfriend, he would make you chicken soup when you got sick. When you remind him you’re a vegetarian, he would gaze briefly into the middle distance, whisper “…right”, and then tear out of the house for takeout.
If Tom Hardy were your boyfriend, when he reads your writing projects, he would text you saying “my heart’s just so full right now. such a talent”
If Tom Hardy were your boyfriend, you would forget to be embarrassed by his bright red sweatpants in public. You would be distracted by how, in his words, it “clinged to his bum.”
If Tom Hardy were your boyfriend, any time you suggested the two of you should do something, no matter what, it would be met with a solemn and vulnerable “Do you promise?” He would not look away until you did.
If Tom Hardy were your boyfriend, he would sometimes slip randomly into different accents. When you tried to play along, he would run his thumb over your chin in a completely non-condescending way, and would tell you, “You’re a treasure.”
Lindsay is a vlogger and film critic who writes for The Mary Sue, Tor, IFC, and her own site, Chez Apocalypse. Mara writes at MaraWilsonWritesStuff.com, tweets way too much, and hosts a storytelling show called What Are You Afraid Of? about fears and phobias. Her debut book of essays will be available through Penguin in 2016. Lindsay writes about awesome stuff like robots and the future and movies comprised mostly of explosions. Mara writes about boring stuff like her life. Between the two of them, they have seen Fury Road twelve times.