The Fame Game || Tom Holland

six: tip of the tongue **

SIX: Tip of the Tongue (t) || contains nsfw material!

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Tom knows he's fucked the second he walks into the living room and sees you rolling around on the carpet with Tessa, your giggles mixing with her excited yipping barks. You're wrestling over a long purple chew-toy, and Tom watches with wide eyes as you play around, your free hand moving all over Tess and paying attention to the thrilled dog. Seeing his dog bonding so well with you does something to him.

You do something to him.

"Oh, hey. Didn't see you there." You're laying out across now the carpet, legs outstretched and arms settled at your sides. As you slowly pant for breath, you run a few fingers through your messy hair, shooting Tom a loose grin. "You alright, Tom?"

Tom swallows. "Yes," he responds, his voice quick. He shakes himself from his daze, trying to look as normal as possible as he finally walks away from the doorway and into the living room. Tessa totters over to him, and he lets her nuzzle into the palm of his hand. "She's going to miss you," Tom finds himself saying, eyes flickering up to meet yours. "I can't believe your trip is almost over."

Sadness crosses your face, and Tom doesn't like the way it clings to your features.

"Can I take her out?" You question, blinking up at him with wide, soft eyes. "Just one last time before my flight tomorrow."

Tom nods. "'Course." He stands up, stretching slightly. "I'll go get the lead."

It's with warmth in his gaze that Tom watches you put on Tessa's collar and lead, and then fight your way into a pair of boots and a large raincoat. He makes light conversation as he watches you get ready to go out, shooting down your offer for him to accompany him. It makes his heart pang when Tess follows you obediently down the drive-way, her tail wagging happily - just like it's been panging, repeatedly, for the entire duration of your visit.

Tom is not sure when his feelings towards you started to change, but as you close the front gate behind you and throw him back a cheerful wave with a large, lovely smile on your face, he knows he's a goner.

"Shit." Tom presses his hands into his forehead as he stomps back into the house, kicking the door shut behind him. "Shit, shit, shit-"

"Oi, oi, oi." Harrison's there, poking his head into the porch. "What's wrong?"

Tom raises his head, shrugging aimlessly. "I'm fucked, mate."

Before diving into it, Harrison plies Tom with a nice hot mug of tea, and they set up camp around the kitchen table. As Tom watches the steam curl off the hot liquid, he sighs.

"Y/N's going home tomorrow," Tom starts. "She's leaving."

"Yes."

"I don't want her to go."

"Why?"

Tom groans. "I don't know." It's so frustrating. Every time he thinks he's figured out the name of the emotion he's feeling, it slips away. "I'm confused, Haz," he whines. He can feel his lip aching as it rolls into a pout.

Harrison kicks him under the table, causing Tom to yelp. "Talk to her about it, idiot," he mutters. His blue eyes seem to scorch Tom's soul. "Eh? You guys are shitat communicating, and a lot of things might've changed between you, but that's definitely not one of them." He has a knowing look in his eye.

"Has she said something to you?"

Harrison's cheeks warm to a soft, discreet pink. "I'm not at liberty to say."