Always Been You | Tom Holland

SEVENTEEN

Y/N

My mind is racing. Tom and Z are mid-interview and I can't stop thinking about what Tom said to me just minutes ago.

I think I love you.

He thinks he loves me? What does that even mean? I can't seem to wrap my head around it. I'm not even sure how I feel. Seeing him practically naked earlier made me feel... weird... but I'm not sure if that's love. The only man I've loved – or, thought I loved – was Jack, and we all know how that turned out.

Press Tom is so much different than Regular Tom. He's so much more charming. That's expected, I guess. I can see the stress behind his eyes every time James Corden asks another question about Spider-Man. He's wringing his hands in his lap. I wish I could grab them and hold them.

"So, Tom, this one's for you," James's accent rings through the speakers. I see Tom tense up and look immediately to me for support. I smile at him and nod my head ever so slightly, pushing all thoughts of our previous conversation from my mind. 

"Oh, God, okay," Tom laughs. We hear laughter from the other side. He's smiling, but his eyes are incredibly fearful. 

"You've had quite a busy few weeks since you've been back home in London, haven't you?"

"Yes, I have. Luckily, my friends and family have done well to keep me busy and out of my room all day," I can see the panic setting in. We both know what's coming. Z sneakily places her hand on his leg, and he wraps his hand inside of hers.

"Yes! Your birthday extravaganza looked like quite the party!" I can see the reflection of photos from the party popping up in both of their glasses. "My question is, though, who this beautiful woman is right here?"

I can see the photo perfectly in the reflection of Tom's glasses. It's the photo he posted of us dancing last night. A beautiful moment captured without us knowing, now being used as a way to get gossip from a man who would give someone the shirt off his back if he could. Now I know why he says he hates press. 

It's an incredible picture -- I want to frame it and keep it hung up in my flat forever. Remembering the look he had on his face as he spoke to me in that photo... I'm remembering his words to me earlier. 

I think I love you. 

Maybe he's telling the truth.

Maybe he's not the only one.

I'm spiraling.

"Ah, that's our mate Y/N," he really emphasizes our. "My best mate's sister. Much better dancer than I am," he chuckles. That's bullshit, he's a classically trained ballet and tap dancer. He's deflecting. "We've known each other since we were little."

"Looks like an intimate moment, doesn't it?" I can tell James is trying his hardest to get something out of Tom, but I know he won't budge, as much as he wants to get out of the conversation.

"Zendaya over here has a knack for capturing great photos. We were probably just chatting about how tired we were," he jokes. Even though I know he's bursting with nerves, he's so good at steering away from a question.

I feel my throat go dry. Something inside of me wants him to say, yes, there is something going on between us. But he's far too respectful to cross that boundary before we've discussed it. Tom quickly glances at me before answering.

"She's an incredible woman, just graduated with her Doctoral Degree, wicked smart. One of the smartest people I know. I don't want her private life splattered everywhere because she's friends with me." I feel tingly hearing Tom speak so highly of me. It's intoxicating. Tom smiles and picks at the skin around his fingernails. He's lying, of course. Obviously, something is going on. He just accidentally told me he thinks he loves me

James is clearly fine with that answer because he shifts immediately back to asking about their upcoming projects – Zendaya about Euphoria and Tom about his new TV show and playing Fred Astaire. They only stay on for a few more minutes before James signs off with them and they can finally breathe a sigh of relief. Tom looks like he's shed about 50 kg in the past 20 minutes.

Z excuses herself to change out of her interview outfit, leaving Tom and me alone. I'm not sure what to say. Do I bring up what he said? Will he? I'm not sure I'm ready to have this conversation. I'm not sure I'll ever be ready, honestly.

"Was that okay?" Tom says, turning off the ring light and placing it in his closet. "What I said about you? I wanted to shut down any further prying about you. I don't like speaking on your behalf." He closes his door and locks it. He unbuttons his shirt, exposing his chest underneath it. My knees buckle. He throws the shirt in his hamper and pulls a t-shirt over his head, causing his curls to flop around wildly.

"It was more than okay," I say. "You did not have to say all those wonderful things." I sit on his bed and fiddle with my fingers. 

"They're true," he looks at me through his faux glasses. "I think I leaned too much into how wonderful you are, though. People will see through my lie." Lie. So he knows he was lying, too.

"I don't know about that –"

"About what I said earlier," Tom's voice is shaky. Whether it's from the interview or this conversation, I don't know. I resist my urge to interrupt him. "I'm sorry for throwing something like that at you. I know you're confused – and so am I."

"Confused is an understatement." I chuckle.

"It wasn't fair of me to say that to you in the context of our situation." He joins me on his bed and sighs. "I think... I think we have a lot to figure out."

"Yeah, we do." I try my hardest not to sound disappointed. He's right, but something inside of me wanted him to double down on what he said. To tell me he does love me. Which is crazy, because I truly don't even think I'd be able to respond. 

"I want to take you out," he says. "Like, on a proper date." My heart falls into my ass. "I'm shooting with GQ tomorrow for the man of the year campaign, but I'd love nothing more than to take you to dinner afterward."

I'm not sure what to say. This is all new territory for me. For us.

"You can even come to the photoshoot with me. If you'd like." His hand finds itself in mine.

"T-that's allowed?" I feel so dumb. He's turned me into a blubbering idiot.

"Of course it's allowed, my love." My love. The air shifts when he says it. "Is that a yes?"

"That's... a yes." He smiles wide and squeezes my hands tight. I know he wants to kiss me. I've come to know the look quite well.

"I want to kiss you." I feel a shiver run down my spine. I let a small gasp leave my lips.

He leans in ever so slightly, my breath catching in my throat. His eyes flick down to my lips and back to my eyes. He leans in until our lips are so close, I can feel his breath – uneven and shaky.

"But I won't," his lips brush mine so softly, it tickles. He pulls back and I feel a bead of sweat drip down my back. "I can wait."

I'm not sure that I can.