Peter Parker & Tom Holland Imagines

rules of heartbreak pt.4

The heavy thumping bass reverberates through the walls and my skull. It's a feeling that normally would make me seek out a quiet corner to people watch and laugh at everyone, but today, I relish it.

Because with the thumping music in my head it's easier to forget everything—with my mum, the game, and worst of all, my emerging feelings for a certain brown-eyed heartbreaker. But he is still making it hard to forget with his hand in mine as he navigates us through the sea of people.

We stop to say hi to a group with some of our friends, Haz, and a few of the football team, all of whom make it a point to stare at me like a piece of meat. I notice Tom clench his jaw. I brush it aside assuming it's nothing more than my throbbing head playing tricks.

Although, when one—Chris, I think—lets his gaze linger much longer than necessary as he sips something from his plastic cup. A split second after, I feel an arm wrap around my waist. My eyes find Tom, who is currently glaring at Chris in utter disdain.

I can't fight back the flush that threatens to tint my cheeks or the smile that tugs at the corners of my lips. Harrison gives me a look over the rim of his cup, clearly noticing the gesture and my reaction. He quirks an eyebrow, and it confirms that he knows another one of my secrets.

Tom keeps his arm wrapped around my waist as he holds me close to him. And I would be a complete liar if I said I didn't actually enjoy the contact. It sends my heart into a flurry, especially when he meets my eyes with that tender look he's gotten lately.

I almost want to say the words that would break me. Those three simple words with the power to kill. They rest on the tip of my tongue. But I can't. If I say those words—if I admit to what I might be feeling for Tom, there'll be no undoing it or mending that could fix me.

The words fall quiet underneath the doting, lecturing voice of my mother. It's the usual lecture. Stand up straight, lean into him, make yourself a worthy trophy for him to display. My stomach churns at the thought of her ideals to be nothing more than an item to be flaunted and displayed for someone. It sends me immediately looking for a way out or distraction.

So, I do what I do best. I play the game.

I hold them back and unwrap myself from Tom's grip. He gives me a curious look, and I move closer to his ear so he can actually hear me. "I wanna dance. You wanna come?" I give him a hopeful grin with a tint of mischief. He visibly swallows as he stares at me with wide eyes.

Once he gives me a frantic nod, I smirk and kiss the edge of his lips before sauntering off—knowing full well that ninety percent of the guys are watching me walk away and slapping Tom on the back for 'landing' me. It makes me feel powerful—in control again—but simultaneously nauseated. It's an odd feeling in combination with the chaos and turmoil.

I weave my way through the tangle of people, and I don't need to look back to know Tom is close behind me. We make it to the living room where the furniture is pushed back and everyone is moving to a smoother beat then when we entered. The thumping of the music settles into my bones, and I turn to Tom with a smile as I start to dance.

In a way, it's freeing. I let myself unwind and hands drift in the air as if to absorb every vibration of the now enjoyable music. The rhythm starts to echo in my muscles and moves my body in time with it. Hips sway to the beat underneath Tom's hands, and one quick glance at him shows that he's clearly unsure of what to do at my carefree state.

I let out a genuine laugh as I grab his hands and get him to dance. It takes him a moment to overcome his shock, but when he does everything changes. His hands come to rest gently on my hips as we move together. It surprises me how natural it feels, and what's even more surprising is Tom's lack of usual charisma. Right now, he's not a boy trying to get into my pants. He's just the guy I've only seen in our quiet moments alone.