THREE: What's Mine Is Yours (Y)
The studio lights burn your eyes painfully, and your throat has been stinging distantly of tequila ever since you took the first shot.
Jimmy's been sending you question after question, analysing and picking apart every aspect of your 'relationship' with Tom for the past five minutes. So far, you and Tom have answered with your stories aligned, and you thank yourself for having the stroke of genius to go over some essential details with him before the show. If you'd just come out here and winged it, as he had foolishly suggested, you know you would've tripped up by now.
It's all going as expected, until near the end of the interview when Tom's words split through the air and shock you completely:
"Well, chemistry is a very important part of any relationship, Jimmy, and you know what they say: enemies make the best lovers."
Enemies make the best lovers..?
Even as the conversation moves on, you feel the words lingering in your mind. Tom's been playing the role of your doting boyfriend very well all evening, but there has been something a little too earnest about his eyes and his remarks, and it's left you feeling... odd. Exposed, perhaps. He's out here claiming that enemies make the perfect foundation to a loving relationship, and though you're almost certain it was a throwaway comment, you can't stop yourself from over-analysing it.
"Well, thank you to both of you for joining us tonight," Jimmy says finally, dragging you from your stupor. "It's been a pleasure, as always. I wish the happy couple all the best!"
You're nestled up very close to Tom on the sofa. His hand is on your knee, and you've got your arm wrapped around his side. You hadn't discussed any of this beforehand, but you'd followed his lead when he'd first stretched out his palm. Casual displays of intimacy, according to your PR team, are everything, and it's been almost nice to have his fingers resting on your leg, acting as a grounding presence. Any time you said something a little risky, he'd squeeze your knee - and you likewise would use your hand on his side to pinch him gently, like a reminder to stop talking whenever he came close to slipping up.
"Thanks, Jimmy," Tom says. He looks around to face you, his brown eyes warm and round. "We've had a great time."
You nod along and pull your hand away from Tom's side as you sit up a little straighter. "Yeah, it's been amazing."
Jimmy throws out a few final farewells, and the audience descends into applause. As the bright sign that reads LIVE flickers out, the cameras stop rolling. Almost immediately, you feel lighter. With a loud groan, you stretch your arms out behind your head and collapse back into the sofa, your posture sagging. Besides you, Tom mirrors you, his legs spreading and his knee knocking against yours as you glance over and share a cautious smile.
"That went well, didn't it?" You ask quietly. Jimmy's wandered off, and around you, people are rolling up cables and wires. You can feel the eyes of some of the audience on you, so you reach down to play with his hand. Tom lets you fiddle with his fingers, and you gulp as you draw your fingertips across his soft skin.
"Yeah," Tom agrees. His eyebrows furrow together as he looks at you curiously. "What was the question you answered with Harrison?"
You scoff. "That's a secret."
You'd almost died when you'd read the card. As much as you'd disliked the prospect of doing a shot, the question had read 'Which of Tom's friends would you consider dating?'. Though you feel no romantic attraction towards Harrison, he's the only one of Tom's friends you know. You couldn't admit it to Tom live, because PR would have had your head, but you don't particularly want to fess up now, either.
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."
You reach up to pinch at the bridge of your nose. "Always straight to the point, aren't you?"
Your PR manager laughs. "Time is precious," she reasons. "Anyway, we've been monitoring your socials. People find it odd that you've not posted anything with Tom, and we've realised that there is a shortage of photos of you both together."
You hum. "Yeah, I don't think we've ever had a photo together where it looks like we actually like one another."
"Exactly. That's a problem."
"Great."
"We've been in contact with Tom. He's going to pick you up once you're done on set, and then come and stay the night with you. You'll be spotted entering your apartment together, and he'll be seen leaving in the morning. Whilst you're together, if you can try and take some photos, that'd be great. Try to build up a backlog of different shots, so you have some in reserves for the future."
You throw your head back, biting back a dramatic groan. "He's coming over tonight?" You clarify.
Rebecca sighs. "Yes, Y/N. Is that okay?"
"I suppose."
"Perfect. He'll pick you up from set at 5."
The line disconnects and you put your phone away, trying not to think about how easily your quiet evening plans have been whipped away. You're called back to set almost immediately, and that provides you with a perfect distraction. You slip on your mask, sinking into a different character, and you let all your worries and irritations fade away.
When Tom rocks up to set, you're still filming. You catch him from the corner of your eye as you act opposite your co-star Joe Keery, carrying your banter perfectly. You love Joe - love the fact that both of you are wearing matching sailor costumes and somehow manage to rock them, and that your scenes always flow together very nicely. You're having a great time together, and you feel sad when the director calls out a final Cut! and the cameras stop.
"Great scene, Y/N," Joe compliments, reaching out to pat your shoulder.
You smile back at him, nodding lightly. "You too!" You say. "I'm going to miss filming with you."
Joe nods, whipping the sailor hat from his head and running a hand through his long hair. "Me too," he agrees, mouth curving into a frown, "Who else would dress up in these stupid costumes with me and not make fun of me?"
You laugh, but before you can form a full reply, you feel a figure lingering behind you. You tilt your head and see Tom there, and then feel his warm hands slip around your waist. It all happens so quickly - one moment he's whispering hi, the next his fingers are wrapped around you and yours are on his shoulders, then he's kissing you quickly. It's just a peck, but it completely blindsides you, and you're still recovering when he pulls back and looks at Joe.
"Hi, mate, I'm Tom," he greets, his voice artificial and loud. "Y/N's boyfriend."
You look between them, your heart hammering in your chest as you retract your hands and let them fall to your side. Tom immediately links your fingers together.
"Oh yeah, I've heard a lot about you," Joe replies, eyeing you sceptically. He raises his eyebrows slightly as he accepts Tom's free hand, and they shake slowly.
"All good things, I hope, eh?" Tom replies, glancing over to you. You raise your eyebrows, trying to figure out what he's doing, but he just grins slyly in response.
"Eh, sure," Joe says. Your friend rocks back on his feet, and you're briefly reminded of the many, many occasions where you'd stormed onto set and ran your mouth about Tom. "Well, I'm gonna go now. See you tomorrow, Y/N." He raises a hand.
"Bye, Joe. Have a nice night."
As soon as Joe's slipped out of sight, you turn your attention to Tom.
"What are you doing?" You ask him, voice higher and quieter than usual. You pull your hand from his grasp, and it drifts up to your mouth, to where your lips are still feeling the aftershocks of the kiss. You stare at him through wide eyes. He's in a lovely blue denim jacket today, and it contrasts brightly against his short styled hair and his deep brown eyes.
"Greeting my girlfriend?" Tom replies. He looks a little bashful as he folds his arms across his chest. "Is that a problem?"
Fuck, you hadn't missed him at all.
"You kissed me," you state.
"Briefly," he agrees, "We're in public, Y/N. It would've been weird if I hadn't done anything. Plus..."
"Plus?"
Tom grimaces. "It felt a bit odd to see you so close to him." He pauses, his face the picture of discomfort. "I didn't like it."
"You have got to be kidding, Tom," you mutter, eyes widening. "Are you seriously being like this because I touched his arm? He's my friend, dickhead." You scrunch up your nose, eyeing him sourly. "You don't have any right to act territorially, Tom. We aren't actually dating."
"Right." Tom tentatively reaches up, and you let him place his hand on your cheek. It feels almost like an apology, and you find the lines of irritation melting from your face. As his fingertips gently trail across your cheekbone, your lips pull into a small smile. "I'm sorry if I took you off-guard," he says, surprising you completely. You'd never thought you'd see the day he owned up to one of his actions. "I won't kiss you again unless we talk about it first."
You swallow drily, trying not to enjoy the way it feels to have his touch skating over your face so smoothly.
"Good," you agree. You rock back on your feet and sigh defeatedly. "We should go."
———
It's a little after 7pm by the time you get home. You make light, superficial conversation with Tom in the car as you put up with his chiding remarks about your driving, and by the time you walk through your front door, you feel frazzled.
"Sorry, I wasn't expecting visitors," you mutter as you walk into your living room and take a view of the mess.
"It's fine." Tom places his bag down on the sofa and looks around, greedy eyes taking in the details of your apartment. "It's nice here."
"Thanks." You look around at your apartment, smiling quietly to yourself. The building is in downtown LA, right in the centre of things, and it wasn't at all cheap, but over the years you've spent hidden away within the walls, you've made it feel like home. You've added character by tacking up a variety of posters, plants, and other fun keepsakes. "Do you want to order food? I don't really want to cook."
"Yeah, sure." Tom pulls out his phone and glances up at you, face illuminated by the screen. "What do you want?"
"Thai?"
He pulls a face. "How about Chinese?"
You scrunch your nose up. "Thai?" You try again.
Tom bites his lower lip, his fingers moving over the screen. "Is it nice?" He asks you.
"You've never had Thai before?"
He looks up at you, shrugging haplessly. "Nope."
"Yes, it's nice."
Tom surprises you by holding out his phone. "Pick something for me?" He asks. "Something good, though."
You chuckle softly, accepting the phone and scrolling through the app. "I can't promise you'll like it, but I think you should." You add a few things to the order before tossing it back. You dig your hands into your jean pockets and hesitate. "I'm gonna take a shower. Do you want me to show you the guest room?" You ask, eyeing up the hefty bag Tom had brought with him.
"That would be nice."
You're quick to show Tom his room, and then you're off through the shower. You'd been called to set for 7am, and the hot, pulsing water soothes away the tired ache in your muscles. The scent of fresh lavender clings to your skin as you dry yourself off and then collapse into a loose pair of leggings and a nice hoodie. You feel more like yourself as you stare into your reflection in the mirror now. You love acting, and you love being someone else, but you feel safest as you are right now: bare, authentic, yourself.
You're so relaxed that you almost forget Tom's staying over until you walk into the living room and see him sprawled out on one of your sofas, phone in hand. He cranes his face back to look at you as he hears you, his eyes drifting lazily over your figure.
"Food will be an hour," he tells you sadly.
"Great," you grumble. You walk into your kitchen, looking over at him from across the open counter. "Do you want any wine?"
"Fuck yeah."
You snicker as you start to pour out two glasses of rosé. "So how do you want to go about taking these photos?" You ask tentatively.
"Well, they made me bring a few different outfit changes," Tom starts, speaking slowly, "So I guess we should just... Move about a bit and take some pictures together."
It's awkward as you walk back into the living room and hand him his wine glass. "Cheers," you mutter, tipping the rim of the glass against his. A piercing ring fades across the room, and you share a despondent look with Tom.
"Cheers indeed, love."
———
It's uncomfortable until the wine kicks in, at which point the staged photographs come together a lot easier.
You start off with a few simple candids around your apartment. You take some of Tom pretending to make some tea, and then of him standing out on your balcony overlooking the city. He changes out his shirts and hoodies every few shots, as instructed by PR, so you'll have a more comprehensive selection of photos to post in the future. It grows quite amusing after a while as you both try to out-Vogue the another, and once the air is full of your endless laughter, you find yourself relaxing.
When he's satisfied with the number of candids he's got of you, Tom suggests you get a little closer and try to get some more intimate, couple-y pics, "'for the 'gram, yeah?" This is when you run into a problem.
"I haven't done this in so long," you find yourself admitting as you sit beside Tom in your bed. You've slipped into a pyjama shirt, and Tom's settled beside you.
"Had an incredibly handsome actor in bed with you?" He returns, eyes sparkling mischievously. This evening he's been very cheeky with you, and you have to admit you're warming up to it.
"Haha," you say drily, rolling your eyes. You puff up your pillows and settle against the headboard. "Taken any photos with a romantic interest," you clarify.
Tom pulls off his shirt easily, balling it up and throwing it across the room. You startle at this sudden action, your eyes drifting down to the defined lines of his abs. Tom is stacked. His lips curve into a smirk.
"Well, today's your lucky day," he teases, causing you to scoff. He opens up his arms, and you settle into them gently, aiming for a sleepy, lazy, we-woke-up-like-this vibe. Your head finds his chest, and your cheek presses against his warm skin comfortably. "Smile."
He takes a few photos of you together, posing as a lovestruck couple, and as the seconds pass by, you melt further into him. You hadn't realised how cold you were until Tom opened his arms and let you in, but now it's as if you were freezing before the first touch. He's got his hand resting on your side, and you feel his mouth linger above your forehead, hesitating.
"Can I kiss your face?" He mumbles softly, "Might make it look more realistic."
You hum quietly, closing your eyes as you wrap yourself further around his torso. "Sure. Can I kiss your chest?" You ask boldly, spurred on a little by the woozy heat that smothers your mind.
You hear Tom's breath hitch, and find yourself holding yours until he mutters, quietly, "Yeah."
You let him have his fun first, and try to remain as nonchalant as possible as you feel his lips fluttering out across your forehead. He leaves a delicate trail of kisses from temple to temple, caressing your skin slowly, softly, with his warm mouth. You realise with a soft epiphany that you don't mind being in this position: Tom's peppering your face in gentle kisses, holding you close in his bare arms - and it's quite nice. And maybe... Maybe he's quite nice, too. Sometimes.
Tom's hand smoothes over your hair, and you tilt your head until you're able to scatter a few short kisses across his chest. You can hear the small clicks coming from his phone, and you really drag it out, enjoying the press of his supple pale skin against your mouth. It warms you up, sets a tingle flaming through your lips.
"There," you say, finally dragging yourself away from him. "Do you think we've done enough?"
Tom hums, watching you closely as you sit up from his chest. His arm retracts from your side, and the air between you clears. "Yeah. I'll send them to PR and see what they say." He messes around on his phone for a few minutes, but you stay exactly where you are - shrouded in duvet and blankets and lingering near his body heat. Your eyelids flutter shut as you relax, your peace lasting until he asks, slowly, "When was the last time you dated anyone?"
You pry open an eye, looking at him curiously. "Eh, it's been a while. Almost a year since there was anyone serious." You look up at him, your head resting easily on the pillow. "Why?"
"Just realised I don't know that much about you, really," Tom replies. He slips down the bed until he's lying beside you, and both of you move onto your sides to face one another. He looks quiet and unassuming like this - tufts of brown hair pushed messily around his forehead, with a warm expression hanging from his lips. It's an odd look to be directed towards you.
"Yeah," you hum. You let a small smile find your lips. "I don't know much about you either."
The sheets rustle as Tom moves a little closer. "Do you... want to know more about me?" He asks gently.
You swallow. You can taste the wine on your tongue, and you wonder why you can only seem to get along with him when you're tipsy.
"Yeah," you admit. "Maybe it'd be easier to do this if we weren't always so..."
"Horrible?"
You bite your lip as you nod. "Yeah. We can be pretty mean."
"Why do we do that?" Tom muses, his cheeks nice and flushed.
"I don't know."
Tom reaches out beneath the covers, and his hand finds yours softly. He links your fingers together, and you look into his eyes intently. You find only warmth and sincerity staring back at you.
"Maybe we should try to be less hostile to each other," he suggests.
Briefly, your mind rewinds to that day at the park, all those weeks ago, and how Tom had dramatically announced that the thought of being your friend repulsed him. It surprises you to hear this change of heart, but you realise you're in the same boat. A lot has changed since then.
"Okay," you find yourself agreeing. "I'd be down to try that."
"Okay."
You share a small smile, and it seems to last a lifetime. For a while, it's just you and Tom, buried in your bed together, hands clasped, breathing in sync, and it's nice.
———
Eventually, food comes, and you convince Tom to watch one of your favourite films in your living room. You settle on separate sofas, but you're able to make some light-hearted conversation. He even jokes around with you. It feels nice - but also too good to be true.
As you sober up, you find yourself looking at him sceptically. No matter how welcome the thought that things between you are slowly mending might be, you don't trust Tom, and that's not about the change overnight. He's an actor, and you wouldn't put it past him to be pulling your leg - drawing you into this rouse, only later to turn around and pull the rug from beneath you, and laugh at you for believing that he'd want to be your friend. Your perception of him has been skewed so negatively for so long that it's hard to believe he's actually being nice - even if on your end, the softening is genuine.
But you let yourself believe it, just for the night. You throw popcorn at him, and laugh together, and finish the bottle of wine over dinner.
"Goodnight, Y/N," Tom calls out, resting up against the door of the spare room. He's caught you coming from the bathroom. He's shirtless again, grey sweats hanging low from his hips, and you can't stop your eyes from shamelessly tracing the curve of his v-line. "Not going to give your boyfriend a goodnight kiss?"
You roll your eyes, but you find yourself walking over to him. "You're so fucking cheeky, Tom," you mutter, amused. You press your hand to his shoulder and lean up to kiss his cheek. "Goodnight," you say, eyeing him firmly.
Tom's eyes dance with a thousand different emotions, and he dives in to kiss your cheek in return. "Night, love."
You raise a hand in farewell and turn away before he can see the huge, embarrassing grin on your face.
———
When you wake up, it's to silence and a slightly sore head. Your clock reads 8.22 AM, and you amble towards the kitchen.
You decide to extend towards Tom an olive branch - a cup of tea - to solidify your newfound... friendship? Amicable arrangement? You don't know how to label it other than a loosening of your mutual disdain, but you know that whatever the dynamic was last night, it'd been nice. The idea that there's more to him than the cocky, fronting mask he sometimes wears is pleasant.
So you make him a cup of tea, and then tentatively walk across to your spare room. You knock quietly, hear nothing, and then gently push your way inside.
The room is empty. Tom is gone. He's left the bed unmade.
"Fuck," you mutter to yourself, scrunching your eyebrows together. You glance around and notice he's taken all of his things, and then walk back into your room to check your phone - no new messages from him.
You sit down on the edge of your bed and sip at the tea you'd painstakingly poured for him.
Maybe it was too good to be true, and you'd just been stupid to think one tipsy evening together was the start of something new. He's clearly undergone no change of heart if he's managed to waltz out without as much as a text goodbye. You feel stupid and angry, but above all disappointed.
Because for a moment - a brief, hopeful moment - you'd imagined being Tom's friend, and the prospect had made you feel happy.