The Fame Game || Tom Holland

three: what's mine is yours

Tom's always been a bit weird about your friendship with Harrison, and you don't want to add more strain to your relationship. Maybe a month ago you would've loved to have another thing to rub in Tom's face, but now things are changing. Your relationship is beyond twisted as it is, and much to your surprise, you no longer feel the burning need to exacerbate that - not now you know you'll be tied to his side for the next five months. For all you thrive off Tom's discomfort, it's starting to take a toll.

Tom pouts, but there's an intense heat to it. "Tell me."

"No."

"Why not?"

You roll your eyes. "What was your first question?" You return. "The one that you replied to by saying I'm stubborn?"

Tom groans, and the illusion of him being a doting, sweet boyfriend shatters. A part of you is relieved he's back to normal as he glares at you. Tom has been too nice to you this evening, and it was becoming a little unsettling.

"I won't tell you mine unless you tell me yours," he barters. Tom looks down at your joined hands and loops your fingers together, leaning in closer on the sofa so he can drop his voice. The strong waves of his cologne drift out over you, causing your mind to spin. "Oh, come on, girlfriend, we were getting on so well, just tell me? Please?" He even flutters his eyelashes.

You chuckle in the face of his charm. "No way."

Tom pulls away, his jaw flexing. He drops your fingers dramatically. "Fine. Be like that." He stands up quickly, but then he pauses and begrudgingly offers you a hand, his eyes skimming the busy room. He, like you, seems to recognise there is a time and place for your petty bickering. "Let me escort you backstage," he says, voice dry and monotonous.

You sigh heavily. "You're so annoying," you tell him, accepting his hand. He helps you up with a strong grip, your fingers tangling together easily. "I almost bought the act that you were actually a decent guy tonight, y'know?"

Tom keeps your hands together as you slowly walk backstage. "I almost bought yours," he returns, his voice quiet. "I suppose we're both good actors, aren't we?"

You set your mouth in a firm line. "I suppose we are."

———

You don't see him for a while, and for that, you're very grateful. For a few weeks, it seems PR are satisfied with a few teasing tweets here and there, and you enjoy the freedom of living Tom-free again. It really is quite disruptive, having to parade around with him, and lie when your friends and family question you about him. It's quick to grow tiresome as you have to explain, over and over, that, no, you don't hate him - love just happened!! Yeah, he's great! Oh, you always thought there was something going on between us? Haha. Hah. That's so funny.

It'd be so much easier, you think, if you and Tom got along better. But you know the only way that'll happen is if one of you apologies to the other, and you're still too fucking angry about everything to let your walls come down. Your history spans three poisonous years, and you aren't willing to start lowering your defences for fear of him using that against you. You'd rather suffer through several more months of torture with Tom than show any sort of regret or remorse. You will not be the first to place your cards on the table, which lands you in a difficult position because you know he isn't the type to concede either. You're so similar it almost hurts.

About a month after the show, you're on set when you feel your phone vibrate in your pocket, and you pick up the small device to see Rebecca's name flashing over the screen. With a sigh, you quickly answer.

"Hello?"

"Hi Y/N, it's Rebecca. I hope you're doing well." There's a brief pause, then, "So, we need you to do something for us tonight."