•løv£l¥• Tom Holland Imagines/Smut II

It's A Case~ T.H

YOUR POV
As a lawyer, there were things you weren't supposed to do: disclose a client's information, lie, allow your feelings to show in court, and most importantly, work with clients that you've had relations with. But when you saw his name, Thomas Stanley Holland, written boldly in red ink on the file, you couldn't help yourself.

It surprised you to see his name on a jail file. He wasn't a saint when you met him, but you never thought he could do anything remotely bad that would land him in jail. You and Thomas had a "thing" a couple of years back in college before you became a criminal defense lawyer. It was a relationship that lacked a few aspects and was toxic, but you had loved him at one point.

Thoughts of him lingered in your mind from time to time. He was the only person you had been with who truly made you feel alive. Others who came after him fell short.

You entered the prison, showing your ID to the guards before they let you in. They escorted you to a small private room where you waited until Thomas was brought in.

You knew this was a bad idea. It could cost you your job, and you hadn't completely healed from the aftermath of your relationship. You still loved him, despite trying to convince yourself that you only missed the physical and sexual aspects. You were lying to yourself. As the door clicked, signaling his entrance, you thought, "Damn, I should have walked out the door."

Thomas wore the bright orange jumpsuit required for prisoners. It suited him, and you had agreed on that in the past. He had stubble on his face, not bothering to shave. A tattoo of a dragon started beneath his chin, and his rolled-up sleeves revealed different layers of arm tattoos.

Sitting down in front of you, Thomas allowed the officers to cuff him to the table. His eyes met yours for the first time since entering the room, leaving you momentarily speechless. It felt like seeing a ghost.

"If you need anything, miss, we'll be right outside this door," one of the guards said before they both stepped out and closed the door. Tom looked at you, and a grin appeared on his face.

"Look who it is. After all this time, you just can't get enough of me, could you?" he said. He still had a way with words, but you had to stay professional.

"Don't flatter yourself, Mr. Holland," you replied, moving your chair closer to him. Deep down, you knew he was right. Here you were, risking your career and being pathetic, all for a chance to see him.

"Just call me Tom," he said. You shrugged off his words and opened the case file.

"It says here that you were caught for drug importation and exportation-"

"Doll, don't focus on the case right now. Let's catch up," he interrupted. You ignored him and continued.

"They found drugs in your apartment, hidden under your couch. Multiple bags of oxycodone, prednisone, Gamma-hydroxybutyrate (GHB), Angel Dust... I can go on," you said, finally looking up to meet his eyes. His chin tightened, and he seemed angry.

Leaning back in his chair, hands still on the table, Thomas scoffed and clicked his tongue.

"Well, do you have anything to say?" he averted his eyes, fumbling with his fingers.

"I didn't do it," he said, locking eyes with you. You sensed the truth, or perhaps you were imagining it. He used to employ that trick during your fights over trivial matters. It was his pity look, and you fell for it every time. Placing your hands on the file, clasping them together.

"Then who did?"

"Does your file show that I have a roommate?" You pull back and open the file again to glance at it, nodding.