Far From Home // t.h.

15 - Tom

"Great, great. I'll send you the address and we can meet whatever time we agree on later." Tom said. y/n didn't say anything, just nodded. Just like that, it was over. He had gotten himself a new assistant, and the "meeting" didn't end in a complete disaster. In fact, everything had gone so much better than expected! He was as proud of himself. He had managed to successfully accomplish a task by himself without it completely crashing into bits. And now, with y/n as his assistant, he'd never have to do that again.

Not that Tom was lazy or sheltered. His mother had made sure that he had plenty of escape routes if life didn't turn out to be what he planned. He had some skills, some more valuable than others, and he could take care of himself. The problem was that sometimes, there was so much that needed to be done; he'd simply get overwhelmed and forget half of it. Now, as an actor, the thing he had an effect on wasn't too detrimental. His failures weren't precisely at the extent of an incompetent politician or a surgeon, but the pressure to perform that act of "perfection" and having his act together was heavy duty. It put some kind of weight on his shoulders, and he didn't want to disappoint anyone.

That's why, after saying his goodbye to y/n, he didn't follow her to the counter to pay for his order. Instead, he stayed behind at the booth as he saw the door open again. The group of fans finally had gotten the courage to step inside. They were giggling amongst themselves, not looking at him but most definitely talking about him.

Tom caught one final glance at y/n as she walked past the group. They shared a small smile, and she waved to him. Walking behind the group, none of them should have noticed. Tom tried to pull a gesture that she'd see as a goodbye, and the approaching group could see it as a somewhat welcoming sign. Of course, they were welcome to say hi, take pictures, talk, whatever they wanted (to a reasonable extent), but Tom was getting tired and putting on that actor Tom persona was tiresome.

He always tried to be himself when talking to people. There were so many fake people in Hollywood that you wouldn't know what to believe sometimes, so it was easier for Tom to just be himself. But he had also learned, early on in his career, that even when trying to be honest, you can't always be genuine. The smiles should be wider, the laughs should be happier. Some parts, usually the less accepted ones, should be tucked away and left for the private eye. No one wanted to see grumpy and tired Tom Holland. Especially since that kind of reputation, even in his personal life, could be detrimental to his actual career.

Most times, Tom had no problem with this act. He had gotten used to it over time, and it's not like he dislikes meeting his fans. It was just moments like these that were annoying. "Was that your girlfriend?" A girl asked. She was wearing her school uniform, its greyness enhanced by it having been through its share of washes. Her friends, dressed in the same uniform, stared at her wide-eyed and open-mouthed. One smacked her on the back.

"Fucking hell, Des, you can't just ask him that," they said.

Des, as she was called, didn't seem to be too bothered. "What, as if you weren't thinking about it."

Tom pushed his smile through, but he wasn't sure if it actually reached his eyes this time.

"It's fine guys, and no, that was- just a friend." That little gap of hesitation would not go down well, he could already tell. But all that had gone through his mind was that it would be too complicated to explain to these kids that y/n was his new assistant and that they were actually meeting about job prospects and all that kind of adult stuff.

He could tell that the minor glitch had caught attention by the look that the third girl gave him. It was minimal, but it was there. A glance of suspicion, the kind that kids just have and is terrifying in a way.

Tom tried to ignore it and was hoping that this impromptu meet and greet was leading to something. And it seemed to be when the entire group, consisting of five, pulled out their phones.

"Could we maybe, uhh," it was a boy that asked, clearly not as extroverted as his other friends, for his voice was actually very soft and unsure. Tom didn't want to see him struggle through the entire question, seeing as he knew exactly what the boy was asking.

"Oh, yeah, yeah, sure. Oi Greggy," he called over Greggy. The barman looked over from the glass he was cleaning. Tom asked: "would you mind taking the picture for us, mate?"

Greggy nodded and made his way over to the group. The kids looked a bit scared, intimidated by the barman's height and raggedy look, probably.

"Don't worry guys, he's nice. Just don't steal anything."

One of the girls handed Greggy her phone and quickly jogged back to squish herself between her friends, suddenly finding herself the closest to Tom. They took a few pictures. A remotely "normal one" where everyone hopefully smiled nicely; a goofy one and one, per request, where they all launched into the spider-man web shooter pose.

"Thank you so much," they all said in chorus. Tom mumbled his "it's no problem, guys, have a great day," as they were already making their way out. The few other people in the pub were looking at him, mostly confused.

With no one else approaching him, Tom made his way to the bar to pay for his tea.

"y/n already paid for ya," Greggy said as Tom was about to pull out his card.

"Oh, ok." That was unexpected.

"But tips are always highly appreciated, ya know."

"You're such a dick, sometimes," Tom laughed, bringing his card back to the machine again. The tea had officially been paid double for.

"Call it your photographer's fee then, hmm?"

"Fair enough, man, I'll see you around." And then he was off.

Tom tapped his way through his phone, getting himself a car to drive him home. It, however, wouldn't be available in the next ten minutes, and so, waiting, he wondered if he could risk a trip to the Tesco across the road. Could it be a sensible grab-and-go, or would he have to take pictures in the dairy aisle?

"Sod it," he crossed the road.