I got the idea for this fic from a series of pic-sets on Tumblr posted by TheYankeeCountess. Her ideas inspired me to write this. It's going to be a three-shot, I think. I can't promise that I'll get it all written soon because I have exams coming up very very soon, but I wanted to start this and post it here. In time, two more chapters will be coming. This chapter is not M-rated or at all angsty, but that will come in the later chapters. I haven't even read through this since writing it, so I apologise for any mistakes - they're all my fault.

Natural Love: Chapter 1

Tom Branson was sitting in his university library as he did every Thursday afternoon. Tom was in his second year studying history. History had always been his passion, though he had been told by his history teacher at school that he would never make a true historian because he was not impartial enough. Tom had a tendency to look at things through a political screen, causing him to take sides and look at evidence in a tilted way. Nevertheless, this had not discouraged him from applying to university to study history. He had decided to do a general history course where he could choose his modules, as he wasn't sure which parts of history he found most interesting. He loved modern history, particularly the politics of Great Britain and Ireland over the recent few centuries, but he also found interest in the Middle Ages. When he had the chance to choose his modules, he made sure that he had a mixture of all of his interests in order to satisfy all bases.

Due to having so many self-study hours in comparison to other courses, Tom found himself practically living in the library. A lot of his friends would spend their self-study time in their own rooms or studying in groups together, but Tom knew that he worked better when he was surrounded by other people working, when it was practically silent and when he didn't have the distractions of his own room to contend with. Working in the library every day had provided Tom with high percentages in his assignments, achieving mostly firsts. That is, until he spotted a girl sitting opposite him one day. And once he had spotted her once, he noticed her every time she walked into the library. Her hair was made of flowing, dark waves, usually pulled into a ponytail. Her eyes were grey in some lights, bright blue in others. Tom had watched her enough to know that she was very studious. Some people would sit in the library with their books in front of them, but then spend an hour on their phone. This girl wasn't like that. Every second that she spent in the library was well spent writing notes or reading and highlighting or drawing and labelling diagrams. Every minute was utilised to her best ability. No doubt she was at the top of her class.

"Sixty three percent?" Thomas said indignantly, looking at Tom's most recent essay. "You're slipping, mate."

Thomas Barrow was one of Tom's closest friends. They had met when they were in sixth form and had then carried on to the same university, with Tom studying history and Thomas studying geography. They lived in the same halls during their first year and now they lived in the same house, along with three others – Alfred, Daisy and Edna. Thomas was looking at Tom's pile of papers that he had left on the kitchen table when he had come home a few hours ago. Now that they were making dinner for the household, the pile had to be moved out of the way.

"It's only one essay. It's not the end of the world," Tom said as he lifted five plates off the shelf and stirred the pasta.

"One essay. That's how it starts, you know. It's all downhill from here," Thomas teased.

"Don't be ridiculous," Tom said jokingly.

"Okay, but really, what's happened? You usually get firsts, Tom."

"I guess I've just been a bit distracted. I've been working more in the pub for extra money and I guess it's making me more tired during the week," Tom said. If Tom wasn't working in the library, he was in the pub. Whilst his friends would go to the pub to drink the evening away, Tom would be pouring drinks and waiting tables. It wasn't the most glamorous job in the world, but it gave Tom a little extra cash. In addition, he played guitar and sang once or twice a week on the tiny corner stage of the pub with a group of friends. It didn't really gain him any extra money – the odd pound here and there – but it kept him playing. He'd always thought it important to keep his hobbies going so as not to be entirely consumed by his history course.

"That can't be the only reason. Even I've noticed that you've been more distracted at home. Even in the evenings. You don't read as much anymore. You spend more time sitting with a beer and staring off into the middle distance. You've got to be thinking about something," Thomas urged.

Tom didn't reply straight away. He had clearly heard the question, but was avoiding it by focusing on the food.

"Hang on," Thomas said a tad too loudly. "Have you met someone? Is it a girl?"

Again, Tom didn't answer.

"It is, isn't it?" Thomas asked.

"Well, sort of."

Thomas said nothing, but gave Tom a look as if to ask for an expansion on the statement.

"I haven't exactly met her. I've just seen her around, you know, in the library and around campus," Tom explained.

"Who is she? Do you know her name?" Thomas pressed.

"I'm not sure. I've never spoken to her, but I think I've heard people call her Sybil."

"You don't mean Sybil Crawley, do you?" Thomas asked.

"I don't know her surname."

"Tom, Sybil's not exactly a common name," Thomas said, typing something on his phone. He turned it around and showed the screen to Tom. "Is this her?"

Tom looked at Sybil's Facebook profile picture. "Yeah, looks like her."

"Oh, Tom, you don't want to get entangled with the likes of her."

"What do you mean the likes of her?" Tom asked, oddly offended by Thomas' description.

At that moment, Daisy and Edna walked in.

"Is food ready?" Edna asked.

"It'll be ready in a second," Tom said politely.

"Do you know who Sybil Crawley is?" Thomas asked the girls almost before Tom had finished talking.

"I've heard of her," Daisy said. "Why?"

"Tom has the hots for her," Thomas explained.

"I don't have the hots for her," Tom said, defending himself.

"Good," Edna said, walking across the room to sit at the table. "You shouldn't get caught up with people like her."

"What do you mean people like her?

"She's posh," Edna said simply.

"So? Not all posh people are horrid. She seems quite nice to me," Tom said.

"How can you tell? You've never actually spoken to her," Thomas pointed out.

"You haven't spoken to her?" Edna asked, shocked. "Tom, don't go near her. She's a blue-blooded aristo."

"And how can you tell that? You haven't ever spoken to her either, have you?" Tom asked, accusingly, trying to defend Sybil in her absence.

"No, but word gets around," Edna said.

"She's no good, Tom. If you fall for her, you'll be in trouble," Thomas added.

At this point, Tom turned to finish up the cooking, which Daisy had taken over since Tom had been caught up in arguing over his new-found crush. He ignored Thomas and Edna and went to fetch Alfred from the front room. Hopefully the group would find a new line of discussion so that Tom wouldn't have to sit through an interrogation whilst eating dinner.

The following evening, Tom was attending a political debate on immigration, hosted by the university's politics society. It was a calm and relaxed atmosphere, but at times intense, particularly during the questions and discussion section at the end. When Tom came out of the lecture theatre it was mild weather. A little bit windy, but quite warm and muggy. He stood outside by the steps, talking to one of his history lecturers who had also attended the debate. History and politics seemed to go hand in hand. After all, a lot of history wouldn't have happened if politics hadn't got in the way.

Just as Tom finished his conversation with his lecturer, someone crashed into the back of him. He whipped around to see what had happened, only to find Sybil standing in front of him, her books and folders scattered all over the ground with paper spilling out in all directions.

"I'm so sorry!" she blurted out before Tom could say anything.

"Ne-never mind; no harm done," Tom stuttered. He thought it odd to see her here. He didn't know many blue-blooded aristos who would willingly go to a political debate. Maybe Thomas and Edna had been wrong about her. From an aristocratic background, she may be, but that didn't mean she had to behave like an aristocrat. Tom bent to pick up some of the books from the ground. "Do you often bring this much stuff to a political debate?" he asked.

"Um," Sybil said, clearly flustered that she'd walked into him and dropped all of her belongings. "I came here straight from a lecture. I didn't have time to go home to drop off all my stuff," she said, taking the books from Tom's hands and adding them to the growing pile in her arms.

Tom picked up the final folder and looked at the spine. "Human anatomy," he read aloud. "Are you studying medicine?"

"Yeah, second year," Sybil replied. "Thanks for helping to pick up my notes."

"No problem," he replied. "I'm Tom, by the way."

"Sybil," she said in return. She looked at him with a sideways glance. "Have I seen you before?"

"Possibly," Tom said. "If you did it was most likely in the library or the pub."

"Ah, yes," Sybil said, suddenly remembering where she'd seen his face. "You spend a lot of time in the library, don't you?"

"Sometimes I think I spend all my time there and do nothing else," he said with a chuckle.

"I know the feeling," Sybil laughed. "I sometimes feel that I never leave the labs, and if I do, it's just to fetch a coffee and then I'm back to working again."

"It will all pay off in the end, I suppose," Tom said.

"Yeah, hopefully," Sybil said. "Your grades must be quite good if you spend all your time in the library."

Well they were until you came into my life, Tom thought. "I do alright."

"Are you studying politics?"

"No, history," Tom replied. "Mostly 20th century British history." At this point he noticed how uncomfortable Sybil looked, standing with an armful of files and books. "Um, do you want me to hold something? You're carrying far too much. It can't be good for you," Tom said sympathetically.

"Yeah, thanks," Sybil said, allowing Tom to take some layers off the top of her pile. "You would think that doing medicine I would know what carrying this much could do to one's back."

"Do you want to keep talking? You know, where we can put all this stuff down? Go to the pub or something?" Tom suggested, feeling his stomach tie into knots, worrying that she might not want to continue their conversation.

"Yes," Sybil said without missing a beat. "I'd like that."

With that, Tom led Sybil to his car where they piled Sybil's work up in the back seats. They hopped in the front and Tom drove them a little across town to the pub he knew all too well. As they walked in, Tom got heckled at by his mates who worked there with him, saying that he loved them so much that he couldn't stay away and such like. Sybil thought it was sweet that he had such good relationships with his work mates, but didn't say anything. Instead, she smiled to herself and allowed Tom to lead her to a free table for two after having ordered non-alcoholic drinks for themselves. Tom was driving, so daren't drink, and Sybil didn't think she could drink if he wasn't. Surely that would be a bit rude? Besides, she knew that conversation would go slowly downhill if she started drinking anything.

Once they were seated together, Tom asked, "How did you find the debate?"

"Interesting," Sybil said. "But really there's only one side to the argument of immigration as far as I can see."

"And that side is…" Tom prompted.

"There's nothing wrong with immigration. My mother moved over here from America and she's never caused this country any problems." She paused. "You agree with me, don't you?"

"Of course I do," Tom said. "I'm a born and bred Irishman, if you hadn't already got that from the accent."

Sybil could feel her cheeks blushing. "Yeah, I had spotted that," she said quietly.

"Immigration isn't the problem. It's the old stigma against immigrants that's the problem. And it's made worse when people hold up that stigma just because they don't know the whole story."

"I couldn't agree more," Sybil said. "How long have you been in England then?"

"Just since I started university. I'm in my third year now."

"Why England then? Why not study in Ireland?" Sybil asked.

"I just wanted something a bit different, I suppose. I wanted to get away and have a bit of independence. It was a bit tough to leave my family, but I don't regret it."

"Are you close with your family?"

"Very," Tom said. "Especially with my little sister. Sophie's five years younger than me, but we were practically inseparable until I put an ocean between us. Are you close with your family?"

"Not exactly," Sybil sighed. "I've got two sisters, both older, and they're constantly bickering with each other. I tend to act as mediator between them. Other than that I'm friendly with my mum, but my dad and I are very different in practically every way. We clash a lot, so we've sort of learned that it's best if we avoid each other for the most part."

"That's a shame. I don't know what I'd do without my sister. My dad died when I was twelve and I think that's what brought us closer together. We had to look after each other and together we had to make sure my mum didn't completely lose it," Tom explained.

As the evening drew on, their conversation deepened, as did their connection. Tom hadn't felt something this strong with a woman ever before. He'd had his fair share of girlfriends, but none of those relationships felt as natural as this one. This one that had lasted less than an hour seemed stronger than some that had lasted a few years. Tom wasn't entirely sure what he was feeling, but he knew it was strong and that he couldn't let it go without a fight.

Eventually, they got to the end of their drinks and slowly made their way out of the pub. It was obvious that they didn't want to leave each other's company. Tom drove Sybil home, with Sybl giving him directions on the way, yet still they didn't want to part.

"Do you wanna come in for a moment?" Sybil asked, clinging onto every second they had together. "If nothing else, I could use the help carrying all of my folders in."

"Yeah, I'd love to come in," Tom said. This girl was special. Every moment counted. Every second was important.