That Night (Tom Holland x Reader) [[COMPLETED]]

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The bare walls and empty rooms made the house you grew up in seem cold and wrong.

You were used to seeing it full. Your father always had a tendency to collect things of sentimental value, borderline hoarder. There was always pictures on the walls and fridge, smaller photos littering any surface, handmade toys, and letters in drawers.

You remember running through the kitchen to get to the living room and always not having enough time to turn to avoid the corner table, tripping over it and landing in the chair behind you on good days, spending a fair amount of time crouched by the television debating over what movie to watch on movie nights, eating all the popcorn before you had reached the halfway point.

As you checked the upstairs to make sure you had packed everything, your brain filled with even more memories. Your father waiting by the door with food when you came home upset from school, crashing in their bed at night after a bad dream, even when your mother came to visit every summer and the three of you sat in the kitchen late at night eating ice cream and catching up.

You hadn't lived in New York for years, but it still hurt to leave this place. You wouldn't ever see the cluttered home again, that corner table, or have heart to hearts at midnight, or have your father patiently waiting to comfort you when you were hurt. It's all going to be gone. He already was gone.

You were leaving your childhood behind as you stepped out of the house with the last box in your hands, fitting it into the trunk of the moving van you were paying for. You'd left the big furniture, arranging it to be donated, but other than that the entire house was packed away and on it's way to a storage unit. You had no choice but to sell the house, you didn't make nearly enough money to pay for it and your apartment in London, as much as it killed you.

You felt a hand on your shoulder and knew it was Alex. Turning your head, you gave him a strained smile before turning back to look at the front door you weren't going to ever open again.

"That's everything?" You heard him ask you and you tersely nodded. It was getting late, the sun getting low, and a bit cold.

You phone had been buzzing with notifications nonstop ever since the funeral, so much so, that you completely shut it off and haven't touched it since, using Alex's if you really needed it. You couldn't understand why it was such big news, why you were everywhere. There were other celebrities in the world, other far more important things than the question of if you were dating Tom Holland.

Because you aren't. No matter what you wished had been different.

You had to get your life together before you could commit yourself to any relationship. You had to see if you even still had a job, it nearing almost two weeks since you left. And then if you did, you knew you would be really busy managing your team. You had to let yourself mourn, break down, before anything really. You had a terrible reputation of keeping your emotions in and then them abruptly explode at the worst possible moments.

And then there would finally be time for you to think about dating Tom. You felt terrible for leaving him like that, but you knew it was for the best.

"Let's go." Your voice was quiet, your throat dry, as you turned to get in the drivers seat. A moment later, Alex getting into the passenger side. Soon, you were on the road, leaving your teenage home behind, and on your way to Riverside Storage, where the rest of the house had already been placed.

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"You know you have to make some kind of online appearance eventually, right?" Alex asked over dinner.