Tom Holland Imagines

Pacifier (angst + tiny bit of fluff)

The hardest thing a person can go through is watching the one they love walk out the door. It's even harder when they take the last of their things on their way out, sending an odd look over their shoulder, their final box in their arms. That was the last memory you had of Tom, you hadn't seen him in over six months.

Neither of you knew this would be how it all ended, especially not when he moved in two years prior. Then again, neither of you were expecting to fall in love with your roommate in the matter of eight weeks. Tom, however, would argue that he was in love with you the moment he walked into the kitchen the first morning after he moved in. He constantly told you that upon seeing you that day, he told himself "That's her, that's the girl I'm going to marry." He would finally admit his feelings for you after eight agonizing weeks of watching you get heartbroken over guys who didn't love you like he did.

It was the night of your big date, the guy you had been crushing on at work had finally asked you out and you were meeting for dinner at the sushi place down the street. You stood in the bathroom with the door open, humming as you applied your lipstick.

"Why're y' even goin' out with this guy?" Tom asked from the doorway, his mouth full and his hand in a bag of family-sized doritos. You rolled your eyes and looked at him through the mirror as he leaned his shirtless back against the doorjamb, his basketball shorts hung below his hips.

"Because he's cute and nice to me and I like him." You said, shrugging your shoulders before looking back at your own reflection.

"Don't you think y' look a bit, overdressed, darling?" He asked again, making you roll your eyes at him. However, his comment made you feel self-conscious, you weren't even sure what to wear and you had already spent upwards of three hours getting ready.

"Why do you care so much?" You asked him with a glare before shoving passed him. Your bare feet padded down the hardwood floors of the hallway, and in the distance you could hear another pair of feet out of sync from your own following you to your bedroom.

You took a deep breath, sitting on your bed before slipping on a pair of sandals. "I don't, I was just asking. You always ask for my opinion on your outfits before you go out." Tom told you, trying to remain as aloof as possible, for the only reason he was saying these things was because he wanted to be the one taking you out; the one to tell you that you looked beautiful.

"Well I didn't ask, so can you just leave me be?" You asked him, not looking up as he let out a scoff and walked back toward the living room. You took another breath after getting your shoes on, you rested your elbows on your knees and buried your face in your palms.

You had become increasingly irritated with how Tom was acting recently, especially when it came to you going out on dates. He used to be so nice to you, but lately it had been weird, especially after that day you came home and walked in on him and Harrison talking about you. You were still unsure what the conversation was about, but as soon as you walked in they were dead silent, so you thought it couldn't have been anything good.

"I'll see you later." You spoke silently as you made your way toward the door. Tom glanced up at you, wanting nothing more than to speak up and explain himself, but as you shut the front door of your shared apartment behind you, Tom knew he'd never be able to be honest with you, especially not with this supposed great guy you were going out with.

Tom spent the rest of his evening watching reruns of How I Met Your Mother, continuously feeling sorry for himself for letting you practically slip through his fingers. He'd wanted you for as long as he could remember, but you were too good for him, he didn't deserve you, and if he did, fate would have given him a sign by now.