London // A Tom Holland Fan Fiction

3- Wall Fixtures?

I invited Tom and Tessa into my apartment, where I offered them both something to eat and drink. Tessa made herself at home and parked herself on the laminate flooring in the kitchen, where I left her a bowl of water and some blankets to lie on. Tom and I made our way up stairs, me leading obviously, giving him a tour of my three story house. Once we got to my bedroom, I threw his shirt into the wash basket.
"Would you like to borrow one?" I asked his. Gesturing to the pile of shirts I had folded on my dressing table. He gave me a weak smile before he began looking through them for one he'd like to borrow.
"Tom?" I said, puzzled. My eyebrows furrowed in concentration,
"have we met before? You're awfully familiar." As if like clockwork he looked at me with delight, holding a Marvel T-shirt in his hands.
"I am Spider-Man!!" He squeaked. And it hit me. I had a celebrity in my bedroom, and I didn't even realise.
I threw my hands in the air out of hysteria, and practically face planted my pillow. Tom holland. In my bedroom. Stood. Shirtless at the end of my bed. I'm such an idiot...
"Don't freak out. Look, I didn't want you to know because obviously, well. It's hard making friends, it always feels like-" I cut him off,
"I know what you're saying, but I liked you before I realised, don't worry." I giggled a little.
"Ey, so you like me then?" He winked at me, pulling my shirt over his head. I blushed and buried my head into my hands, falling back into a nervous fit of laughter. He stretched up, making all of his carved muscles flex in different ways, it was so effortless.
"Jessica Smith!" He jokingly scolded, he caught me, red faced and blushing. Aha, oops? He quickly pulled the shirt down and put his arms into it, to say I'm a lot smaller then he is, it fit him pretty well. Me and all my 5 feet, 3 inches.
"This must be huge on you." Tom exclaimed, dramatically looking down to me, like I was that much smaller then he was.
"Mr Holland, I do believe I invited you in to fix my shelves, did I not?" I smirked at him, he was getting side tracked. He looked down to his feet, admitting defeat,
"Does your dad keep any tools?" He asked, I shook my head, no, and he looked even more defeated.
"But I do" I smirked, digging about my room searching for them. He gave me a disbelieving look until I pulled out my toolbox, and he gasped in shock. Typical men.
So Tom got to work, leaving me sat on my bed, talking about my life goals and aspirations. He pretended to be interested, but I knew he was just being polite.
"I'm sorry" i giggled, and he looked at me with sheer confusion,
"I must be boring you" I confessed to which he shook his head.
"I could listen to you talk forever" he smiled,
"It's just these damn wall fixtures, I don't know how to attach them without drilling into your walls more" he suggested, raising his eyebrows,
"Can you do that?" I asked him as he quickly nodded and began working on it. After about 20 minutes of hard grafting, he sat down next to me, a triumphant look in his eyes,
"All done" he beamed, admiring his amazing handy work. I could feel how close he was to me before I even saw him, it felt like I had known him forever, when in reality I had only just met him. A few silent minutes had passed then Tom stood up,
"What shall we put on your shelves?" He asked me, ready to help. I joined him as we both put my books back onto my shelves where they belonged. "Listen, tom. I'm sorry for not recognising you at first, I've seen your movies and I think you're an amazing actor, an amazing person even and-" he put his finger over my lips, pushing them shut. Not in a rude way but in a way to tell me not to kill the mood, he came closer to me, we were only a few inches away when he began to lean in, "Would you like some tea?" He whispered.