Tom Holland Imagines

Tropemas Day 2: Enemies to Lovers

A/N: On the second day of Tropemas, my author gave to me, Enemies to Lovers and a cliche "One Bed" storyyyyy (seriously, help. I have no clue how to write these.)

"I am going to kill you, Holland!" you shouted at the top of your lungs, holding up your severed ponytail. Tom was beside himself with fits of giggles. 

He was your older brother's best friend, of course, so you couldn't have exactly told him to leave the house. Though the two of you had hated each other for years and had played a series of small pranks on each other throughout the course of your apathy. However, this had been the last straw. Tom had snuck into your bedroom in the middle of the night and cut your hair off at the elastic with a pair of blunt kitchen scissors. Granted, you didn't look half bad with a bob. In fact, (though he'd never admit it,) Tom kind of liked it.

"Kill me for what?" He asked, trying and failing to feign innocence but betrayed by his own laughter.

"For this, you bastard!" You grit your teeth, trying your hardest not to lash out at the boy before you. "You're an adult, for Pete's sake!"

"And you're not? As I recall, the last time I fell asleep on your couch, I woke up with a moustache made of permanent marker! That's not even creative!"

"You know, I really hate you," you seethed. 

"Well, I hate you too," Tom retorted. He secretly craved the attention he was getting from you. It fed him in a way he couldn't quite describe, but he ate it up like it was the last thing he'd ever taste.

"If I were a boy, you'd be looking at me through one swollen eye." You bounced on the balls of your feet, forcing the nervous energy into the hardwood floor.

"Oh yeah? Don't let it stop you! Show me what you've got." Tom stepped forward. He was right in your face and he knew it. You could feel him breathing on you and, in some sickening and twisted way, it kind of excited you. You poised your fist, ready to strike, but he caught it.

And suddenly you were kissing him. You don't know how it happened, but all at once the smell of him enveloped you and you were lost in the taste of the coffee he'd had before breakfast, still on his lips. 

When you pulled away, both of you were breathing heavily and clearly shocked.

"That was...um..." you started, unsure of what to say

"It was good," Tom told you, rubbing his beet-red neck sheepishly.

"Look, I'm really sorry about everything I ever did to you. To be honest, I can't even remember why we ever said we hated each other."

"Me neither. And I would apologize about your hair..." he started, a quiet smirk playing on his lips, "but I like it better short."