The Only Exception - {TOM HOLLAND}

F O U R

You watch as he lets the shirt fall back onto the bed, his hands running through his hair, tugging at the strands a bit. Tom exhales sharply and looks to you, clearly trying to find his words and compose himself.

"I haven't left Ezra for this long before," Tom finally says, and keeps going, "with my other movies he's been there. Harrison takes care of him or the company hired someone to watch him. My parents would take him for at most two weeks at a time back home...but this isn't something I'm used to, leaving him for months only getting small visits."

It's in this moment, that you realize for as much as Ezra is a homebody and wants to be attached to his father 24/7...so is Tom.

"The ride to the airport tomorrow is going to be a mess when he realizes he's not coming along. I don't want that for him. What if he needs something from me? Or what if something happens and I can't get back to London in time? Or—?"

"Hey," you interject and walk over until you're in front of Tom, "you can count thousands of what ifs and it'll only make you feel worse. This is why I'm here. I'll make sure he's safe, happy, and available to FaceTime you whenever. We'll be visiting you on set in three weeks."

Tom bites at the inside of his cheek, his hands resting on the small of his hips, clearly still feeling nervous. You toss the take-out menu on the bed and slowly step into Tom's space. When he doesn't move or make protest you pull him into a hug, because sometimes physical contact can say more than words. Tom's arms slide around your waist and hold you tight, and you can't help but smile at the contact.

"...it's hard," Tom mutters, voice cracking.

The smile drops from your face.

"I still feel like a kid and I am raising one," he continues, "I feel like I'm shit at it."

Your hand plays with the soft hairs at the nape of Tom's neck, thankful when the contact makes some tension fall from his posture.

"That's not how I see it," you say, but don't continue.

Tom pulls back, but you're not quite out of his grasp, "what do you mean?"

"I see a guy raising an amazing little boy who is learning how to be kind, smart, and responsible. I see how much love you have for Ezra; everything you do is for that boy. Letting him try things he wants to try, letting him play with any toy he wants, making sure he has either fruits or veggies with every meal. You give him hugs, cuddles, and kisses practically every hour.... Tom you may be winging it but you're winging it pretty damn well," you explain, taking a deep breath after using every bit of air in your lungs to get that out.

Tom's eyes are wide, his mouth parted a bit, and you feel yourself grow hot in embarrassment for letting all that out. It's true, but you didn't quite expect that reaction. Seconds tick by before Tom pulls you back in for one final squeeze-hug, before letting you go.

You stand there for a second, trying to remember how to breathe normally—especially breathe regular air over the soft soapy scent that is uniquely Tom—before finally grabbing the menu.

"Well, uh, the house is cleaned up. If you need any help just let me know, I'll be in the living room," you say, hating how uneven your voice sounds.

"Alright darling," Tom says.

You stopped backing out of the room at that, looking at Tom with an arched look.

He looks back at you with a confused, "what?"

"What's with the nickname? Darling," you ask.

Tom tenses up, and had you not known him as well as you do, you probably wouldn't have caught it, "it's an English thing us Brits say. Think of it like bro or something like that."