Art Imitates Life

Chapter 10

Tom blinked awake slowly, warmth and sunlight flooding through the windows. As he stirred, he became aware of Chris lying beside him, an arm draped across Tom's waist, holding him close. There was something comforting and steady in the way Chris's hand rested there, as if Tom belonged in that exact place. He let himself enjoy the closeness for a moment, feeling the quiet peace between them.

Eventually, Chris's eyes opened, and he smiled, his voice still rough with sleep. "Morning, Tom."

"Morning," Tom murmured, feeling a little shy, though they'd spent the night wrapped up like this.

They lay there in silence for a while, until Chris shifted, gazing up at the ceiling with a pensive look. "You know, sometimes I think about how quickly time's passing," he said, his voice soft. "How I'm getting older, thinking about... what's next."

Tom felt a nervous flutter, sensing the unspoken meaning behind Chris's words. He swallowed, his heart picking up speed. "You mean, like... settling down?"

Chris nodded, his gaze turning thoughtful. "Yeah. I want something that feels real. Someone who's there because they want to be—not because of anything else." He glanced at Tom, his expression softening. "I guess I'm just thinking out loud."

Tom's cheeks flushed, his heart pounding as he felt Chris's words settle over him like a promise. For a moment, he allowed himself to imagine what it would be like to be that person for Chris, to share more than moments like this but a future together. Before he could respond, Chris gave him a reassuring smile, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead.

"We should probably get ready. You've got a big day ahead," Chris said, his tone lightening.

They got dressed, and Tom could hardly keep from glancing at Chris, his mind whirring with questions he wasn't ready to voice. When they finally reached the expo center, Tom felt ready to tackle anything. He was excited about the panel, eager to meet other artists and share ideas.

Before it began, he was introduced to the other panelists, a mix of established artists and up-and-coming talents from around the world. One of them stood out immediately—a young man with sharp features and dark curls, dressed in a tailored suit that seemed to emphasize his almost regal air. Tom recognized him as Timothee Chalamet, a French artist whose work had gained viral fame after he'd won a prestigious Louvre contest at the age of ten.

"Ah, you must be Tom Holland," Timothee said, his tone polished but with an edge of something colder beneath it. "You've had quite the... meteoric rise."

"Yeah, I guess so," Tom replied, taken aback by Timothee's intensity.

Timothee gave a small, almost condescending smile. "Interesting to see who they consider panel-worthy these days. I've been in this world a long time, so I suppose they're broadening their standards."

Tom's stomach clenched, the pride he'd felt earlier dimming slightly. But he managed a polite nod. "Well, I'm just glad to be here. It's a great chance to learn from other artists."

The conversation turned more neutral as other participants joined them, but Timothee's dismissive attitude lingered in Tom's mind as they went on stage. The panel started smoothly, and Tom shared insights on his work, speaking about his journey and his inspirations, all while trying to ignore Timothee's occasional sharp glances.

When the discussion shifted to the nature of "good art," though, things took a turn.

"I think good art is about capturing truth," Tom said, his voice steady. "It's less about skill or fame and more about the honesty of the expression."

Timothee scoffed slightly. "So, you're saying anyone with a paintbrush and a feeling can make 'good art'? That's a convenient view for people who don't have a classical background."

Tom's jaw tightened, but he kept his tone calm. "No, I'm saying art isn't confined to technical perfection. It's about emotion, impact. Art shouldn't have to fit into a box to be considered worthy."

Timothee's eyes narrowed, and for a moment, the air between them grew tense. But before either of them could continue, another panelist interjected with a more diplomatic response, and the conversation moved on. Tom forced himself to relax, not wanting to come across as defensive or insecure. He knew his worth, and he wouldn't let anyone, not even Timothee Chalamet, make him feel less.

The rest of the panel went smoothly, and once it wrapped up, Tom was preparing to head back when Timothee approached him, his expression smug.

"Enjoy the attention while it lasts, Holland," Timothee murmured, his tone cool. "Some of us don't have to... let's say, cuddle up to famous people to get ahead."

Tom felt his face flush, anger bubbling beneath his skin. He clenched his fists, but forced himself to keep his voice steady. "I'm here because of my art. Nothing else."

Timothee's smirk only deepened, but he turned and walked away before Tom could respond. Tom stood there, frustration burning in his chest. The insinuation stung, not because it was true, but because it touched a hidden insecurity he hadn't been able to shake.

Back at the hotel, Tom found himself unusually quiet, lost in thought. When Chris met him in the lobby, he noticed the tension immediately, and as they made their way to Chris's room, he gave Tom a concerned look.

"Everything okay?" Chris asked, sitting down beside him, his gaze gentle.

Tom hesitated, but finally, he took a deep breath, meeting Chris's eyes. "Chris, can I ask you something?"

Chris's expression softened. "Of course."

"Are you... are you doing all this just because..." Tom hesitated, struggling to find the words. "Just because you want something from me? Like, is this... is this about more than just helping me?"

Chris looked taken aback, his face clouding as he reached for Tom's hand. "Tom, no. Never. I care about you more than anything. This isn't some favor, and it's definitely not something I'd do for just anyone."

Tom felt a flicker of relief, but he needed to hear more. "Timothee—one of the guys on the panel—he implied I was... only here because of you."

Chris's eyes darkened, and his grip on Tom's hand tightened. "Listen to me. You're here because you deserve it. Everything you've achieved, it's all because of your talent and hard work. And as for me..." He paused, swallowing. "I'm here because I love you, Tom. Not because I want something from you. Because... I can't imagine not being in your life."

Tom's heart stopped, the weight of Chris's words sinking in as he processed them. "You... you love me?"

Chris nodded, his eyes filled with warmth and a vulnerability that made Tom's chest ache. "I do. I've felt it for a while now. But if you don't feel the same, that's okay. I just needed you to know."

Tom didn't respond with words—instead, he leaned in, capturing Chris's lips in a kiss that held every answer, every feeling he hadn't known how to express. The kiss was slow and tender, a soft promise of everything he'd felt but hadn't dared to believe.

When they finally pulled apart, Tom was smiling, his heart full. "I love you too, Chris. I think... I think I have for a while."

Chris laughed softly, resting his forehead against Tom's. "Well, that's a relief," he murmured, pulling Tom into a tight embrace. They held each other for a long time, the weight of their confessions settling between them, binding them closer.

Later, as they lay together, Tom felt a peace he'd never known, a quiet joy that made everything else fade away. He drifted off with Chris's arm around him, feeling safe, loved, and exactly where he was meant to be.