angel cake ♡ tom holland/sebastian stan/chris evans oneshots

Dancing With Your Ghost // Tom Holland

au where tom died on the set of chaos walking lmao

hate me for it if u wanna, i hate me for it too !!

and on we go...

~~~~~

   The car ride was so silent it was like you'd gone deaf. Even with someone else in the vehicle no noise was made - you couldn't even hear breathing. The road was desolate and wet, lit by orange street lights, and the tires were just as lacking in noise on it. Your brain was numb and dove through the null ache of a never-ending abyss of noiselessness while the car moved slowly to your house.

   "We're here, sweetheart." Nikki said gently, though her voice was coarse and broken, on the verge of tears. The car engine has cut out, leaving even more quiet for your head to marvel at. You blinked. You turned your head. You were there. You looked at Nikki, sat in the driver's seat. Her hair was pulled away from her face in a limp ponytail and her sweater hung loosely off her shoulders. She'd lost weight since she lost him, just as you had. 

   "Thank you." You whispered, then went to open the door and get out. Nikki's hand on your arm stopped you, and you looked back at her, though it hurt. You never realised just how alike they were, but seeing her now was like being stabbed repeatedly all over your body until there was nothing left but your sore heart and the ache.

   "Stay another night, y/n, please. I don't like the thought of you here alone, not after this." She pleaded weakly but you shook your head, swiping thick tears from your overly dry face with a shaking fierceness. 

   "I'm still trying to process, I think I need the time alone right now. But thank you, so much." You said, and stretched the corners of your mouth upwards. Doing so felt foreign. Nikki tried the same thing.

   "You can always come to us if you need to, no matter when. We love you."

   "I love you all too." 

   You got out the car after embracing Nikki, silent once again. You walked inside in a daze, dropping your jacket on the floor and venturing upstairs. You opened the door to your bedroom, then closed it again without even stepping inside. Even now, a month later, you wouldn't be able to see that bed, remember every time you'd lay there with him then realise that you would stay remembering forever.

   Instead, you went for the bathroom. You hardly found the energy or want to eat or drink anymore, but you still needed the bathroom, so you went inside. You sat slowly, and nothing happened. Of course nothing happened. Nothing ever happens, no matter how much you need to. You sat silent and unmoving for almost half an hour on that toilet, wanting to neither get up nor stay there. Finally you pulled your phone from the pocket in your jeans and turned it on for the first time all week, since you'd gone back to the Hollands'. A barrage of messages flooded your screen, filling it and allowing your eyes no rest as the banners continued to flick on and on, the new one replaced as soon as it had appeared. You opened the controls and turned off your data. The notifications stopped, finally. All you'd ever heard since the world got the news was apologies and offers of care and help and love. It was unbearable. 

   You opened Spotify and shuffled your own playlist, not your shared one. As a rule, you didn't listen to each other's playlists - you revealed one song at a time, and then it was taken off the personal playlist. This came about after he said you had a terrible music taste, which of course you countered with a song you loved and the same claim against him. He did the same back - it turned out your music tastes weren't even really that different. The personal playlists were waiting lists until you could play them to one another; to ensure the songs were entirely a surprise, you asked each other if they'd heard of the artist or the song name before. If the answer was no, on went the song. Yours held 34 songs - more than enough to stop the quiet until you fell asleep in the bathtub again. 

   "Promised I wouldn't shed no more tears... for you..."

   You breathed out and got up slowly, setting your phone on the sink and flushing the unused toilet out of habit. Without thinking, you raised your arms, and drew your feet along the floor. And then your were dancing, inexplicably dancing. Every turn made was freeing your body, every flick of your wrist batting away a hollow sympathetic smile, every low kick an abandonment of inhibition, every last move a fuck you to everyone who wanted you to think they knew how you felt when they could never, EVER feel so terrible-

   "You look like the Joker." Someone said, voice teasing yet tender. You stopped, then turned around. Stood in front of the wall, hands in his pockets, wearing the same sweater he had gone in, was Tom.

   Tom?

    "Are you going to say something?" He asked, and the nervousness in his voice so familiar and endearing. You stepped forward and reached out to touch him, to feel him, to confirm he was real.

   You felt the hot skin of his cheek, sparking against your fingertips. Your heart jumped up through your throat and down to your feet before returning to your chest. Your hand cupped his cheek and he tilted his face into it, knowing what you were trying to do. Your breath left your body in such a delirious rush as you kept touching his body, both hands now, feeling every contour of him and just how very real he was. Your head was spinning, spinning, spinning, but he smiled and you cried, and he closed his arms around you gently, holding you like he used to.

   "I missed you." You whispered, voice broken and desperate. He chuckled quietly.

   "I missed you too, love."

   The music stopped for a moment, then started again. Tom pulled away so carefully, and stayed so close to you. You gripped his sweater, filling your fists with fabric.

   "Wanna dance?" He asked. You paused, then slowly slid your hands upwards, pressing them to his chest as you did so you'd never stop feeling him. They stopped at his shoulders, holding them firmly. Tom smiled, soft, gentle, perfect, and put his on your waist.

   Then he started to dance with you.

   He lead you slowly around your bathroom, inching forward, backward, round in a tiny circle. You didn't speak to him, because you didn't need to speak to him. All you'd have to talk about is the endless hours lying in the garden while it poured trying to feel something, the infinite days since he'd gone spent with his family who were all just as depressed, the bottomless pit of memories until you forgot what reality was anymore. He was there, and all you needed was for him to be there.

   "I've always liked this song." Tom murmured, and you pulled away.

   "I thought you said you'd never heard of it."

   Tom smiled, then pulled away, holding onto your hand. "I haven't." And he twirled you, your feet unthinkingly following the motion until you stopped in front of the sink. You looked into it, at the space behind you where he was. He wasn't there. It was only you, alone in the mirror.

   "Every night I'm dancing with your ghost."

~~~~~

how are we feeling about this

i'm not too sure about it my dudes

but we move on !

if anyone has a request for a fic

(or a recommendation for a movie)

then send it to me !

i wouldn't be killing tom like this if i wasn't desperate lmao

all love

viv x

(p.s. how was everyone's xmas??)