You hurried through the throng of people. Through the crowd, a small path was formed by security for you and Tom to walk through. You kept your head down, as instructed, and felt the throbbing in your hand.
Whenever you went out in public, Tom held your hands so tightly that sometimes your knuckles popped. It wasn't like that when you were alone, he was sweet, and his touches tender. He would gently fold his fingers in between yours, and let his palm rest against your skin. But out here, in the open world, he was so afraid of losing contact that he held on tight.
"You're so short, (Y/N)," he once said, when asked about it. "I could so easily see you getting lost in the crowds. I can't lose you."
People shouted Tom's name as you went by, begging for pictures & autographs violently. Occasionally, you heard your name being called. Instinct told you to look up, see what they needed, but security assured you that it was never worth it.
Tom was polite with everyone, greeting them with small hellos and thor coming to see him, but he kept his furious pace to the car.
You saw the car at the end of the concrete, a guard waiting patiently by the back door to open it.
"(Y/N)!" a voice shouts.
You sneak a small smile and a polite nod at them, but follow the rules.
"(Y/N), look here!" you couldn't tell if it was a fan or a greedy man holding a camera, so you didn't comply.
You felt fingers wraps around your elbow, gripping your free arm. It yanks you back suddenly, yelling, "Can we get a picture?!"
You gasp slightly. Tom doesn't realize and keeps guiding you while the stranger pulls you toward them. From both sides, you're being yanked away from something.
The stranger wins and Tom's hand leaves yours in an instant. Panic sets in when you lose his touch, and sight of the security guard.
"Please! One picture!" it's a man, but he holds a phone rather than a bulky camera. He's a fan.
"I'm sorry, I -" you start to mutter.
Tom reappears from the crowd with the veins in his neck popping out, red in the face. He slams his hands against the man's arm and his grip on you breaks.
Tom bolts in front of you and in an instant, his face is inches from the man.
"Don't touch her!" Tom shouts, his eyes wide with fury. "Don't you ever touch her!"
You fearfully put your hands on his shoulders from behind him. "Stop," you try to whisper, but your voice is cancelled out. "He's just a fan, he didn't mean it." you say a little louder.
Tom glowers at him for a minute, then grabs your hand and again starts for the car. He moves faster this time and you make sure to keep up, scared of what would happen if you were pulled away again.
Once safely in the car, the guard shuts the door and Tom immediately grabs your cheeks.
"Are you all right?" his accent is thick when he's worried. "Did he hurt you?"
"No, no I'm fine," you assure him. You put your fingers over his hands. "Calm down. I'm okay."
Tom sighs and runs a hand through his hair. "When I saw him grab you I swear I could have -"
"Stop," you say. Tom says things when he's angry, and later his conscience kicks in and he feels guilty. "He didn't mean anything by it. He just wanted a picture. Totally innocent."
"But they can't just grab you like that!" he argues.
"They don't understand why it scares you."
The car pulls away from the curb and Tom stares out the window at the fans. His face softens slightly, watching the people smile and chant his name. His lets out a heavy breath and pulls you closer.
"You're right," he admits. His cheek lays against your hair as he leans against you. "But nobody's allowed to touch my girl."
You smile. You loved how protective he was, he was loyal to a fault. Sometimes it made him not think clearly. But his heart was always in the right place.
"Don't worry, I'm sure you'll handle it If they do." you chuckle.
